Bermuda
by Demented Amanuensis
Summary: WARNING: This is a HG/SS/LM threesome fic. If you're under 18 or don't like threesome stories, don't read it. -- War heroes aren't always treated as they ought to be. If they're getting too uncomfortable, the government might even try to hide them away.
1. Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

'The word "veteran",' Hermione Granger said heatedly, 'derives from the Latin word "vetus". Vetus means old. I am not old.'

'Yes, well.' Visibly pulling himself together, the young Healer inhaled deeply and smiled broadly. As broad smiles go, this wasn't a very convincing one, and it obviously didn't fool Hermione.

Although her back was already aching from sitting ramrod straight, she forced her protesting muscles to contract even more, wincing at the pain that scuttled along her spine. 'Yes, well, what?' she spat out.

'What I wanted to say…' Healer Blackendale exhaled and clasped a twitching left hand in a white-knuckled right. 'What I wanted to say…'

'Yes?'

'Well, what I wanted to say was… You can deny it all you want, Hermione, and yes, you can even try Latin, but however much and in whichever way you attempt to deny it, denial won't change the fact that you're twenty, you're a war veteran, and you're totally and completely fucked-up.'

Totally and completely fucked-up, Hermione thought. He's a very young and inexperienced healer, to be sure, he's nothing more than a healer pup, and he really isn't up to handling this on his own. But what he means to tell me, and quite rightly so, I guess, is that I've gone round the bend. I'm nuts. I'm crazy. I am, to express it as succinctly as possible, mad. And the fact that I don't really think I am only serves to prove it.

Her 50-minute therapy unit wasn't up yet, she knew that of course, but nevertheless she slowly hoisted herself out of her armchair, gathered her robes around herself in a failed attempt at dignity, and left the room.

Healer Blackendale's eyes followed her all the way to the door, but he didn't make a single move to stop her.

The view was, as the saying goes, a sight for sore eyes.

The window – if one could by rights call it thus, because this was more than a mere window, it was an entire wall made of glass, charmed to be unbreakable of course – invited the eye to wander aimlessly, across hills of a green so juicy that you thought you could smell the verdant humidity, across the softly undulating line that wasn't really there, just an illusion, the… nothing, really, where green hill met blue sky. There were sheep on the hills and soft, puffy clouds in the sky, two flocks oddly complementing each other. There was peace, or so they'd told her.

But peace is only where you want to see it, isn't it?

Nature isn't peaceful, it is an ongoing struggle between species, and the milky fleece of a grazing sheep is only white as long as you don't see the belly torn open and the guts spilling out, and the whole peaceful scene dissolving in a chaos of gurgling bleats and hooves flailing desperately for grip on a ground that is already slippery with blood.

There is no peace for the restless, Hermione thought.

She had returned to her room ten minutes ago, after her useless session with Healer Blackendale, and now she was sitting in an armchair – she always seemed to be sitting in armchairs these days – with nothing to do but look out of the window and into an idyll she couldn't quite make herself believe in.

They had taken away her books, her wand, and others before them had obviously taken away her sanity. In the five months or so she'd been here, she'd only had glimpses of the other patients – Ron, for example, whom she had spotted across the entrance hall, or Tonks, whom she believed to have seen in the garden. She was at Blossomwood, the first retreat for traumatized wizards that had ever existed in Great Britain. A privilege, to be sure. But she couldn't care less. She'd have been just as happy to be despatched to Azkaban.

How has it come to this, she mused. Yes, I've been through some horrible experiences, but so have countless others. Yes, I've lost people who were dear to me, but I'm not the only one. There were houses in ruins, corpses rotting under the debris, there were orphans and cripples, there was a whole society to rebuild, for heaven's sake, they needed bright young people like myself to do it. I'm alive, I'm relatively healthy, and three fingers of my left hand are all I lost. Why has my left hand suddenly become the centre of the universe for me? Why can't I look further than my left hand, why can't I feel the need to help all those poor fellow human beings out there? The only emotion I _can_ feel is self-pity. And fear. Fear that I'm really mad, fear that I'll never get out of here.

And why, for fuck's sake, can't Blackendale, that stupid sod, that joke of a healer who probably got through his exams by the skin of his teeth, and because he has those nice, innocent brown eyes, why the hell can't he help me? It's his bloody job, so why can't he just do what he's being paid for?

From its place on the bedside table, the water jug was hurled against the window, propelled by wandless magic (this at least they hadn't been able to take from her), but, silently and infuriatingly, it bounced off the charmed window and onto the spell-cushioned floor where it wobbled for a few seconds and then stood still, perfectly still, a symbol of everything that was right and as it should be, in sharp contrast to the occupant of the room who promptly succumbed to a crying fit.

The half-Kneazle that had been peacefully snoozing on the bed stood up slowly, yawned, stretched and, with a look of patience sorely tried but never-ending, stalked over to the shivering heap and started licking the ugly pink scar on his mistress's left hand.

The next day dawned grey and heavy with rain.

While Hermione Granger sat up in her bed, unwilling to relinquish the oblivion of sleep, another occupant of Blossomwood was having his first therapy unit of the day. His still full china cup met the saucer with a sharp 'clink'.

'Did nobody care to teach you how to prepare an acceptable cup of tea?' he asked, lifting his right hand to touch his cheekbone and progress from there to his ear, only to let it drop back to his lap in mid-gesture. It was less of a conscious movement than a reflex, something he'd obviously done his whole life. But it had become conscious, and it was quite obviously embarrassing him.

The Healer noticed of course but said nothing. Instead he replied, 'No, Mr. Malfoy, I'm sorry. Nobody taught me how to make a decent cup of tea. Perhaps you'd be willing-'

A sneer was all the answer he got. 'You cannot possibly pretend to be serious. Or is this' – the same gesture again, only aborted even earlier – 'one of your tricks? Do you think you can make me talk by trying to swap recipes?'

'I wouldn't dream of it, Mr. Malfoy. Besides, I didn't seriously believe that you knew how to make tea. Really, somebody like you, with a big mansion and legions of House Elves would-'

The sight of Lucius Malfoy rising from a chair, blazing with fury, was enough to interrupt even an experienced old hand like Wilcox.

'I will not-' Malfoy paused to breathe deeply, because his voice was in danger of losing its well-bred, mellow timbre. After a few seconds he continued, 'I will not tolerate being spoken to in this insolent manner, Mr Wilcox. I have no idea what you intend to accomplish by mentioning everything I have lost, but this behaviour is unacceptable. Or maybe you intend to take your tactlessness even further? Are you perhaps burning with desire to mention…' He paused for the fraction of a second, and when he continued, his voice was almost inaudible. 'The loss of my… hair?' His gaze, which had been holding the Healer's in a death grip, flickered away for a moment and then returned to Wilcox's face. 'Is that what you are attempting to do here – although, I would like to remind you, in a very unsubtle manner? Are you trying to… provoke me?'

'Mr Malfoy. Like all the other members of the staff of Blossomwood, I am here to ensure the well-being and safety, as well as the recovery-'

'Do try not to tempt me into doing something inconsiderate by reciting that drivel written on your brochure,' Malfoy said. 'Is a prolonged sojourn in this' – a sweeping gesture of his right hand indicated surroundings that most other wizards would have described as sumptuous – 'hovel all I get as a reward for my efforts? If I had had the slightest shadow of a suspicion that the defenders of law and order were going to compensate my acts of heroism by locking me away in this decrepit facility, I would have preferred to stay at Voldemort's side and die!'

In a whirl of silken robes that hurled the teacup to the far corner of the room, Lucius Malfoy left.

Healer Wilcox stared after him, shaking his head.

Healer Abercrombie, who among her colleagues had the reputation of being able to cheer a gravestone into tango dancing, walked along the corridor, her gait noticeably less bouncy than usual. She was on her way to the next therapy unit, and not overly keen on seeing her most difficult patient. She looked out of one of the large windows and reluctantly acknowledged that the grey morning sky threatening heavy rainfall looked exactly as she felt.

She paused to breathe in and out deeply a few times.

'There's nothing for it, Kat,' she muttered. 'You've got to face him, whether you want to or not.'

Three more steps. She knocked at the door, straining to hear any noise from inside, but there was no reply. With a sigh, she forced her face into a friendly smile and turned the handle.

The first thing she saw after the door had swung back maybe ten inches was a bony hand holding a vial. The hand was trembling. Healer Abercrombie swallowed, because she knew that the hand wasn't trembling from weakness or infirmity. She had seen it often enough during her school days, and still wasn't able to get the automatic response – duck, try to get your shoulders as close as possible to your ears, try to make yourself invisible – completely out of her system.

'Good morning, professor,' she chirped, and immediately regretted the false brightness of her voice. Play-acting (and bad acting at that) had never worked with the man.

She further opened the door and stepped into the room. Turning her back to him in order to shut the door cost her more of an effort than she cared to admit.

'I daresay it isn't,' he hissed, holding the vial so close to her face that she had to step backwards. 'Who brewed this?'

The hand holding the vial had once again moved close to her face, but she decided not to give up any more of her territory and remain where she was standing. 'I have no idea, professor. But I can find out, if you want me to. What's wrong with it?'

He turned abruptly, and she felt the soft swish of his robes against her ankles. 'There is nothing _specifically_ wrong _with_ it, Miss Abercrombie. _It is_ wrong, right from the beginning, when some incompetent nincompoop, who imagined himself to be capable of brewing a potion, lit a flame of the wrong temperature under a cauldron of the wrong size, in order to randomly throw in the wrong ingredients at the wrong time!' He turned to face her again, his pale skin now slightly flushed with anger.

Healer Abercrombie had to use all her willpower to prevent herself from swallowing convulsively. 'I…see,' she said once she was sure of having regained control of her voice. 'Nevertheless,' she continued more boldly, 'it can't be that bad. All wizards – and witches of course – who were hit with the Hunger Curse are taking it and-'

'And what's good for them has to be good for me as well, is that what you meant to say, Miss Abercrombie?'

'Well, yes, more or-'

'Then do enlighten me, _Healer_ Abercrombie. Have any of these patients been experiencing muscle cramps? Random outbreaks of sweat? Rashes, maybe?'

'Now that you mention it, some might-'

'Some? _Might_?' His voice, which had risen in volume during their dialogue, suddenly became very soft again, almost a purr. The Healer involuntarily held her breath. 'You and your fellow healers are not doing volunteer work here, are you, Miss Abercrombie?'

'N-no, we are paid, of cou-'

'So you are paid, I see. And what, pray tell, do they pay you for?'

As it had in countless potions classes, when facing this particular teacher's wrath, her brain slipped into auto-pilot mode, making her recite what she had learned by heart. 'I am here to ensure the well-being and safety, as well as the recovery of the residents of Blossomwood, to care for-'

'Thank you, Miss Abercrombie,' he interrupted her, 'that will do for the moment. Now let us see – think of it as an experiment, Healer Abercrombie – now let us see whether the mush inside your head you seem to insist on calling a brain…' He was close to her again, and punctuated his next words by tapping a bony index finger against her forehead. 'Let us see whether that strange' – tap – 'substance inside your head' – tap – 'is able to progress' – tap – 'from step one' – tap – 'to step two.' Forceful tap. 'Does "ensuring the well-being and safety" by any chance include a duty to make sure the patients of this admirable facility do not ingest anything that might potentially damage them? Such as…' A vicious sneer bared his crooked teeth. Yellowish teeth, the colour of old ivory, like the keys of an antique pianoforte. 'Glass shards, perhaps?'

Healer Abercrombie nodded convulsively.

'Very good. Now from the obvious to the less glaringly obvious. What about poison, for instance?'

Eyes widening, Healer Abercrombie nodded again. The muscles in her neck were beginning to ache furiously.

'And now, a veritable leap of logic, Miss Abercrombie. Concentrate, this is going to be a really, really difficult question. What about a potion so badly brewed that its side effects could seriously harm the patient, unless he is a potions master and thus capable of determining that it is, indeed, unsafe?'

He stepped back and looked her in the eyes. Healer Abercrombie suddenly remembered a muggleborn colleague telling her about some Muggle technology – what had he called it? Lazy Beams or some such. They could burn right through your head…

'I'll take the necessary steps immediately,' she said, conscious of how squeaky her voice was sounding. 'If you'll excuse me…'

A second later, Severus Snape was alone in the therapy room, smiling sardonically to himself.

They may have weakened his magic to the point where it was almost nonexistent, but he hadn't lost his grip yet, not quite.

Blossomwood, Great Britain's first retreat for traumatized wizards, had been established immediately after Harry Potter had won a final, and lethal for both of them, victory over Lord Voldemort.

The newspapers had taken to calling it the Final Battle, thereby conveying to the event a kind of doomsday glamour none of the participants had ever noticed. For them, it had merely been the culmination of years of guerrilla warfare on both sides, enemies waiting in trenches until the other side raised their heads out of their trenches, to hurl curses at them and sink back into more of that monotonous, nerve-wrecking waiting.

Had Lucius Malfoy, who certainly wasn't notorious for his inclination to hang around waiting idly for either an enemy to get him or his own glorious leader to drive him insane with a randomly cast Crucio, not finally had enough of the deadly – in every sense – boredom and decided to give the Good Guys a hand, the guerrilla war might have worn on and on, until everybody would have run mad.

It was a dangerous thing to allow somebody of Malfoy's calibre too much time for pondering things – this was what Voldemort had failed to realize. And thus, after giving the situation a long hard look, Lucius Malfoy had decided that enough was enough, and instantly proceeded to action. He'd long been suspecting that Snape wasn't really on Voldemort's side, and besides he was immensely grateful to the man for having protected his son. After Narcissa had disappeared from his life (she thought, and quite rightly so, that what she had gone through during Draco's sixth year of school was all her husband's fault, and consequently divorced him) Draco was all the family he'd left, and he didn't want to risk that.

So the first thing he did after bribing his way out of Azkaban, was to find Snape and his son, strike a deal with the Goblins to hide Draco at Gringott's, and then set out together with Snape to destroy the remaining Horcruxes. Their joint memories of the successful obliteration of the first of three Horcruxes having been carefully stored in a pensieve – together with some of Snape's own memories proving that his murdering Dumbledore had indeed been part of the old man's plans – and the pensieve safely tucked into the same vault as Draco, the two wizards made contact with the Order of the Phoenix.

It took the Order members some time to come round and trust two men who, in their opinion, were only slightly less evil than the Devil himself, but in the end they had to accept Snape and Malfoy's help unless they wanted the war to continue forever.

The ensuing battle was atrocious. Voldemort's Death Eaters were a small but dangerous army, composed of men and women who didn't have anything to lose. When it became clear that Voldemort had fallen, and for good this time, his followers spread out across the country, leaving a trail of death and destruction in their wake, fighting to the last minute. None of them had any illusions as to the choices at their disposal: it was either fighting to the end and dying, or going to Azkaban and the unloving care of the Dementors. None of them had trouble choosing between these alternatives, and they all died fighting, except for Rodolphus Lestrange and his wife Bellatrix, who had to return to Azkaban after only five years of freedom. If killing Harry Potter in a blaze of red fire was a happy memory for them, it certainly didn't last very long under the Dementors' influence.

So the war had been won.

But, for the very first time, British wizarding society had to face a phenomenon hitherto unknown to wizardkind: Victors who, instead of celebrating, wanted nothing more than to turn away from all human contact, who couldn't stop crying while Minister Scrimgeour fastened Orders of Merlin to their robes, victors who received the gratitude and congratulations of their fellow wizards with stony faces, unable to reply, victors who looked so beaten and… defeated that the newspapers were reluctant to put their pictures on the front page and instead chose to display photos of a benignly gruff Minister Scrimgeour pulling Orders of Merlin from a velvet-lined basket like a magician pulling white rabbits out of his cylinder.

This was definitely not what anybody had expected.

The victors might not quite look the part, but they had, after all, saved Great Britain from one of the most evil wizards of all times. They very obviously didn't want gratitude, they didn't want cheering up or ceremonies or speeches. Besides, their reluctance to get back to normal and go on with their lives reminded some people – Minister Scrimgeour among others, and not too few ministry employees – uncomfortably about their own actions, or lack thereof, during the leaden years of war. Though nobody ever dared say so aloud, eighty percent of the British wizarding population would have liked nothing better than to take the whole victorious bunch and spell them off to some remote island where the climate was nice and warm, providing food aplenty, and where, most importantly, nobody would have to look at their dreary, sad, worn-out faces ever again.

And then, one day and totally out of the blue, Percy Weasley, the Minister's eternally junior undersecretary, had come out with a solution that got him immediate promotion to Permanent Senior Undersecretary.

Thus Blossomwood was born, and had only narrowly escaped being named The Rufus Scrimgeour Asylum for War Veterans. Not that the poetic choice of name changed anything about what it essentially was: A luxury prison, where bewildered Healers tried to make sense of the five books on Muggle psychology they had been given to read, and were fiercely determined not to cause too much damage with their very limited skills.

Staff meetings at Blossomwood were held every Monday, Wednesday and Saturday.

There were ten Healers, each in charge of five patients. There had of course been more traumatized survivors among Voldemort's enemies, but due to the scarcity of Healers Blossomwood had not been able to accept a larger number of inmates. Well-chosen inmates, of course, Very Important Wizards able to make Minister Scrimgeour's life hell if ever they came out of their stupor far enough to complain about the way they'd been treated.

The inclusion of Snape and Malfoy into the crowd of fifty had initially caused a bit of an uproar among the population, but Scrimgeour had managed to convince his fellow wizards that this was exactly the right way to go about things, if one wanted to "build bridges where there have been chasms separating our society, to extend a hand in friendship where there has been enmity, to gather all witches and wizards, regardless of age or birth, under the common roof of love and respect for each other…"

Percy had been quite proud of this speech he'd composed for his Minister, although some of his colleagues had had the cheek to call it 'pompous'.

A cloudy, blustery Saturday morning and afternoon had turned into a rainy evening, and after a final round through the premises, to make sure their charges were fast asleep, the ten Healers were sitting at a long table in the conference room, having a late supper and discussing the past week's events.

'You're looking awful, Kat,' Senior Healer Bogglesworth addressed Healer Abercrombie.

Abercrombie swallowed a bite of sandwich, chased it with a sip of pumpkin juice, and nodded. 'Yes, I imagine I'm looking every bit as tired as I feel. I did therapy with Snape today…' A chorus of sympathetic oh's and uh-huh's echoed through the room. Kat smiled. 'That wasn't the bad part – I mean, yes it was bad, but he wasn't any worse than he usually is.'

'So?' Healer Bogglesworth prompted with an encouraging nod in her colleague's direction.

'Well, he complained about the potion we've been giving to the patients who'd been hit with the Hunger Curse. The, er, conversation got a bit out of hand – I must admit that I left the room at some point, because…' She shrugged helplessly and turned towards her younger fellow healers. 'You know how he is. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to appoint an ex-student for his therapy.'

'Oh, it was an excellent idea all right,' Healer Wilcox said. He was a grey-haired, middle-aged wizard who always managed to look rumpled, no matter how tidy his robes. Moving is chair back so he sat even nearer to the warmth of the fireplace, he continued, 'Because otherwise I might have been assigned to him.'

Senior Healer Bogglesworth snorted. 'And that would mean that you would have to swap Malfoy for Snape, wouldn't it? Big loss, Wilcox, really big loss.'

'Of course, my dear. Malfoy has never yet lasted more than ten minutes before storming out of the room, so I get to have a quiet cup of coffee and a fag before tackling the next one. That's a huge benefit.'

'Not quite my idea of professional ethics,' Healer Blackendale said judiciously, making everybody else in the room groan and roll their eyes. He didn't notice their reaction, of course, but doggedly continued, 'It is our duty to ensure the well-being and safety, as well as the recovery-'

'Thanks, Blacky, that'll do,' Senior Healer Bogglesworth interrupted him sharply. 'And may I remind you – speaking of professional ethics – that telling a twenty-year old girl who lost everything in this bloody war, that she's completely fucked-up is _not_ what I expect from any member of my staff. You do not, I repeat not, insult your patients, have I made myself clear?'

'I just meant to provoke-'

'You may provoke, but you must not insult. Is that understood?'

Blackendale's shoulders drooped. 'Yes, Senior Healer Bogglesworth.'

'All right then.' Bogglesworth motioned to the others to help themselves to more sandwiches. 'Do we agree that Granger, Snape and Malfoy are the trickiest cases we've got here?'

Everybody nodded, silently munching away at their sandwiches.

'Very well. I think it is time to take some drastic action. If we can't do anything for them, maybe it's time they did something for each other.'

The three people standing in front of Senior Healer Bogglesworth's office looked at each other with ill-concealed bewilderment. Even the kind of aloofness bred into the Malfoy genes by four centuries of targeted marriage between Europe's oldest pureblood families was unable to completely mask Lucius Malfoy's surprise. Snape had chosen to retreat behind his most intimidating teacher persona, and Hermione Granger was still too exhausted from a night spent between nightmares and bouts of crying to do much more than stare at the two men.

This, however, was enough to ruffle Malfoy's feathers. 'Is there anything in particular, young lady,' he enquired archly, 'to justify this, er, glaring breach of etiquette, pardon the pun?'

'Where's your hair, Mr Malfoy?'

'Not on my head, obviously,' Malfoy replied in a voice so cold it could make hell freeze over.

Hermione briefly wondered whether it might make pigs fly as well, but decided against it, leaving only a small margin of doubt. 'I can see that,' she snapped back, 'I merely meant to ask you what happened!'

'Then why not do exactly that?' Malfoy said. He turned towards Snape, thus deliberately excluding Hermione from the conversation. 'One often wonders,' he continued, 'where young people do get heir manners from these days. Manners being, of course, a mere euphemism for the lack thereof. Or is it that Muggles employ House Elves not merely to change their offspring's nappies, but also to teach the little brutes how to behave themselves?'

'Muggles don't have House Elves,' Hermione said and added, 'You fascist pig!' in a low whisper, sure that Malfoy couldn't hear her.

Not only had he heard her, Snape had caught her words too, and now both men turned around to look at her. "What a very interesting epithet,' Malfoy purred, 'Would you care to explain what it means?'

'It means… it means…' Hermione was just about to say 'bald' but was saved from trouble by a House Elf telling them that 'Senior Healer Bogglesworth would likes to see you, sir, sir and ma'am!'

Hermione trudged into the office behind the two men, unable to stop wondering what exactly made their robes swish so enticingly. She'd tried that swishing bit over and over again, even with the help of charms, but it just never turned out the way she wanted it.

Senior Healer Bogglesworth summoned three high-backed chairs to stand in front of her desk. 'Sit down,' she said, inviting them with a gesture to follow her example. The three perched on their chairs, and had they been capable of telepathic communication, they would have been surprised at the similarity of their thoughts: Sitting there, opposite the kind but stern-faced healer, triggered memories of school days long – and in Hermione's case not so long – past, when they had been summoned to the headmaster's office for some offence committed less than expertly, and hence discovered.

Malfoy's face was lit by an almost-smile when he felt himself taken back in time, to that moment forty years ago, when he and Nott and McNair had got the dressing-down of their lives for persuading the unicorns to recoil from the then-Minister of Magic's fifteen-year old daughter… What a scandal they had caused.

Snape's features lost some of their sourness when he fondly recalled the look on Black and Potter's faces, as they had to admit to their beloved headmaster that they had been the ones exposing one Severus Snape's greying underpants to half the students of Hogwarts.

Hermione was the only one who had tears in her eyes. Too fresh was the memory of herself and Harry and Ron trying to look guilty while Dumbledore lectured them on some prank they'd pulled, the three of them together…

'I have come to the conclusion,' Senior Healer Bogglesworth began her speech, 'that it is time for the three of you to move on to a different kind of therapy.'

The three on their uncomfortable chairs looked at each other in utter surprise. After months of isolation, to be summed up like that, to be somehow put into the same category by this white-haired matron, took some getting used to. For a moment, none of them was able to utter a single syllable, which gave Bogglesworth time to continue. 'You have been guests of Blossomwood for almost five months and, I have to say, none of you has made any discernible progress.'

By the time she had finished this sentence, Snape had recovered sufficiently to reply, 'Did it ever occur to you, madam, that the bunch of incompetent dunderheads you call your staff might have any part in this deplorable lack of success?'

'Of course.' Bogglesworth gave him a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. 'I certainly admit that none of us was ready to fulfil the expectations both you and our government may have had. But,' she cocked her head and focused her smiling look on Malfoy, 'I am quite sure that your… unwillingness to cooperate with the healers assigned to you is to be blamed as well.'

Malfoy snorted. 'If I may say so, Healer Bogglesworth, it isn't so much unwillingness as, let us say, the gap that separates-'

'Whatever,' Bogglesworth cut him off. 'You've been here, fed and pampered and costing quite a lot of money, for almost half a year, and nothing has come of it. This is reason enough for me to try and find a different solution. A better solution,' she added, nodding as if to confirm her own words.

In spite of the countless hours she'd spent ranting to Crookshanks about how she hated being incarcerated in this loony bin, Hermione suddenly felt terrified at the idea of being thrown out, because her three meals a day affected the net income of the Average British Wizard. 'We could cook our own meals,' she blurted out, 'and clean our rooms, and… And I'm sure I could manage a vegetable garden or something like that, so you'd only have to buy the seeds, nothing else, and-'

A cool, perfectly manicured white hand came to rest on hers. 'Please, Miss Granger. Try to be reasonable.' Somehow, Malfoy's cool, controlled voice seemed to stabilize her boggling mind. Hermione shot him a sideways look of gratitude.

Acknowledging it with a barely perceptible nod, Malfoy lifted his hand from hers and up to his face, stiffened for a moment as if he'd been touched by something unpleasant, then continued, 'I am sure that Healer Bogglesworth has no intention of turning us into some kind of House Elves. But I suppose that we all,' he looked at Snape, who was sitting at his left, 'would like to hear just what the esteemed Healer has in mind.'

'I'm out of my mind with nervous anticipation,' came Snape's deadpan reply.

'Glad to hear it,' Bogglesworth shot back, equally deadpan. 'I am sure you will understand that, while my first concern is for my patients, I also have to take care of my staff. While most of them seem to derive a certain amount of pleasure from working with people to whom they owe their well-being, if not their lives, it has not escaped my attention that Healers Abercrombie, Wilcox and Blackendale are getting more and more distressed.'

'Wilcox,' Malfoy said, 'has the less than enviable task of being Ronald Weasley's therapist, as he told me. If that doesn't account for his increasing distress, I am sure that listening to Madam Nymphadora Tonks's incoherent stammering would be enough to drive a saint to drink.'

The benign twinkle in Bogglesworth's eyes was replaced by something steely and definitely unpleasant. 'Remarks such as this, Mr Malfoy, are not made any more palatable by a shady past – to put it mildly – and a more than doubtful allegiance to the Side of Light. If I tell you that you're driving my healers crazy, you'll have to take my word for it. The same goes for the rest of you.' She crossed her arms and gave each of them a stern look. 'Your food and general cost of living here – just to appease your fears, Miss Granger – are not subject to this discussion. But since months of cost-intensive therapy haven't brought about even a minimal change, there won't be any therapy in the near future. Instead,' she continued after a slight pause, leaning back in her chair, 'you will move in together, into a comfortable suite situated in one of the secondary buildings.'

Three simultaneous gasps greeted this announcement.

'There will be a House Elf to see to your needs, and you will have a garden all to yourselves, undisturbed by anybody else. No healers, no government inspectors, no intrusion of any kind. Should you try to hex each other, the consequences shall be quite unpleasant. That is all, Miss Granger, gentlemen. See you in four weeks.'


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

It took Hermione all of five minutes to pack up her belongings. She really didn't have much to show for twenty years of earthly existence. A set of spare robes, two pairs of Muggle jeans that had seen better days, a couple of shirts, some underwear, a bunch of socks most of which had forever lost their twins, a pair of rather shabby trainers and a thin gold chain with a locket containing an old photo of her parents on one side and a wizarding picture of herself, Harry and Ron taken during the Quidditch World cup. And Crookshanks, of course.

She left her bag to the House Elf – Pipsy was her name, and she seemed more than happy to get rid of the witch who'd packed her own luggage – and picked up the half-Kneazle. He gave her a doubtful look but didn't object to being carried out of the room, through the corridors and out of the large, squat building.

After walking a few metres, Hermione turned back. 'I don't know, Crookshanks,' she muttered, pressing her nose into the ginger fur, 'I really have no idea why I'm feeling so relieved. We're moving in with Professor Snape and Lucius Malfoy, of all people. But somehow…' She scratched him behind one ear with her right index finger. 'Somehow even the idea of having to share a house with two Ex-Death Eaters seems better than having to remain alone in that room.'

She shot the window of her former room a last, hateful look and turned to resolutely march in the direction the House Elf had indicated to her.

vvv

'Hmm.' Severus Snape poked his head round the door and eyed the living room. 'Seems acceptable.'

'For somebody who spent his childhood in that dog's kennel called Spinner's End, and still seems to harbour a certain fondness of the place, it certainly would,' Lucius replied, looking over Snape's shoulder.

Snape didn't reply but merely shrugged. He was used to Malfoy's acerbic comments on anything not quite up to Malfoy standards – which included more or less everything that wasn't Malfoy Manor – and couldn't care less. They had seen each other only in passing, during their almost five months at Blossomwood, but the two years before their somewhat enforced stay at the retreat had renewed a friendship that went back to their youth. Renewed it, and changed it. They'd never been on equal footing socially, or even during their early forays into Death Eaterhood. When Snape had come to his senses – although in hindsight, he thought he might have taken leave of them at that precise moment – and gone to Dumbledore to offer himself as a spy, their paths had gradually separated, for obvious reasons. But the search for the Horcruxes, the shared worries for Draco and, in the end, their loneliness, had made them understand that they had to become friends again. Two years of sneaking behind Voldemort's back had a way of strengthening a relationship. None of them had ever considered their fellow Death Eaters their friends - the continuous dread of being stabbed in the back, if you were incautious enough to turn away, certainly wasn't the fertile ground on which friendship blossomed – and the behaviour of most of the Honourable Members of the Order of the Phoenix hadn't really given them the impression of having more friends than just each other.

Having opened the French doors to let in the fresh morning air – last night's rain had given way to a splendid spring day – Snape leaned with his back against the door jamb and scrutinized Malfoy from under half-closed lids, pretending to be studying his fingernails. The man certainly didn't look well. This was, of course, partly due to the loss of his gorgeous platinum-coloured hair, but once you'd got used to that you had to admit that the baldness somehow enhanced his coolly aristocratic looks. No, it was the emptiness of those icy-grey eyes, the lack of life in the way he moved and carried himself, that suggested something was quite wrong with Lucius Malfoy.

Snape, who had been hit with a Hunger Curse – a farewell present lovingly bestowed on him by an unidentified Death Eater – knew exactly that his criticizing anybody else's looks was laughable at best. But he was on the mend now, in spite of the poor quality of the potion those idiots had been giving him (besides, a Potions Master worth his money was able to find certain curative herbs in the vast park surrounding Blossomwood), and his Magic was slowly regaining its strength.

'What, if I may inquire, did they do to lure you to Blossomwood?' he asked, pushing himself off the door jamb and moving over to the armchair opposite Lucius's.

Malfoy slowly raised his head. 'The same they did to you, I imagine. Backmail, pure and simple. It was going to Blossomwood and keeping Draco out of it all, or my son being kidnapped, put on trial and myself into Azkaban. Without a trial, needless to mention.' He shrugged. 'You don't need much of an imagination to picture what would have happened. A year in Azkaban, if he'd been lucky, and all the family fortune gone. At least I was able to save what Narcissa hadn't taken by giving it all to him. Am I wrong in assuming that they coerced you in much the same way?'

'I see.' Snape's eyes followed the flight of a sparrow until it was out of his view. 'Yes, they did indeed blackmail me into coming here – not that they had to go to much trouble. Healer Abercrombie may be a silly chit of a girl whom I barely manage to tolerate, but compared to the Dementors…'

'Exactly. And the two of us, not to forget Bella and good old Rodolphus, of course, made such a handy excuse for Scrimgeour not to get rid of those creatures.'

Snape nodded absentmindedly. 'Indeed. What do you think they used against that Granger girl? She's a war hero, she used to be Potter's best friend, and there never was a shadow of doubt concerning her loyalties.'

'They told me there were witnesses who could testify that the curse killing Harry wasn't cast by the Lestranges. That it was I who cast it.'

Both men jumped and turned backwards, to where Hermione was standing with a lump of ginger fur in her arms.

'Is that still the same disgusting feline you used to keep while at school?' Snape asked.

'He's a half-Kneazle and yes, he's still the same old Crookshanks. Aren't you, big boy?' she cooed.

Crookshanks gave a short 'mrow' and struggled to get out of her hold and onto the floor.

'Well,' Lucius drawled, 'If that isn't the nicest surprise I have had in ages. Severus, Miss Granger, myself and a half-Kneazle. What a delightful little family we shall be. Tea, Severus? Miss Granger?'

Snape pretended to look out of the window to hide his smile, and Hermione merely stared.

'My dear Miss Granger,' Lucius said, getting up and walking over to her, 'do make an effort. A mere offer of tea, uttered by my good self, cannot be enough to reduce you to speechlessness.' He cupped her elbow and led her over to the sofa in fron of the fireplace, smirking as she just fell into the cushions and stared up at him. 'Is there anything I or Severus' – he gestured towards his friend who was watching the scene with no small amount of amusement – 'can do to, er, remedy this state of muteness which, pleasant as it may be for us, surely holds some discomfort for you?'

Hermione slowly turned her head to look first at Snape, then back at Malfoy. 'This is the weirdest dream I've ever had,' she said slowly, not quite sure of her voice. 'If only I knew when exactly it started…' Tears gathered in her eyes. 'Maybe I'm still at Hogwarts, and the effing war never happened, and I didn't have to go to Blossomwood…' The floodgates were wide open now, and she started to cry in earnest.

Crookshanks shot the two wizards a withering look – somehow he managed to glare at both of them at the same time – shook himself and jumped up on Hermione's lap.

'Ouch,' she said, and carefully disentangled a claw from her robes. 'You do have claws, you know, and the robes they gave me here aren't'- She lifted her head. 'Oh. Not a dream then.'

Lucius, who had remained standing next to her chair, looking increasingly uncomfortable, sighed deeply and repeated, 'Tea?'

'Yes, please,' the other two replied in unison, and Snape added, 'In my experience, there's nothing like tea – with the appropriate trimmings of course – to dispel crying attacks in females. If the finger sandwiches fail to do the trick, the chocolate cake surely will.'

'Yeah, sure,' Hermione muttered, 'As if you knew anything about women.'

'May I remind you, Miss Granger, that before my rather ignominious departure from Hogwarts I used to be a Head of House for almost twenty years? And rest assured, I haven't been leading a monk's life either.'

Malfoy, who had given detailed instructions to a House Elf, turned his attention back to the other two. 'Can you believe this creature answers to the name of Tipsy? Of course you didn't lead a monk's life, Severus, saffron really isn't your colour.'

'Those are Buddhist monks,' Hermione said. 'The Christian ones come mainly in black, white and brown. And the House Elves all have the same name, only the first letter is different. The one looking after me was called Pipsy. So there has to be a Gipsy too,' she continued, gradually brightening, 'Although I wonder what they did with the vowels… I mean, is there an Aipsy or isn't there?'

'Have some cake, Miss Granger,' Lucius said in dulcet tones, with an amused sideways glance at his friend who had covered his eyes in evident distress.

'If this is how it's going to be for the next four weeks, please, ye gods, find a way of either killing me or sending me to Azkaban!' Snape groaned.

'There now, Severus. There is no need for second-class histrionics. Look, Miss Granger is eating her cake and drinking her tea, she has stopped crying, and if we continue to feed her, she may even stop talking. Well-behaved young ladies don't talk with their mouths full, now do they, Miss Granger?'

'I merely'-Hermione began but was interrupted by Snape.

'I can't believe,' he muttered while pouring himself some tea, 'that an even moderately intelligent human being would fall for that stupid lie, much less you.'

Lucius raised his eyebrows. 'I beg your pardon?'

'What they told Miss Granger. That there were eyewitnesses'-

'Oh, that,' Lucius said. 'Really, Miss Granger, Severus does have a point. What happened to that famed intellect of yours? Even a flobberworm would be able to see through such an unsubtle fabrication.' He shook his head. 'Not that Scrimgeour could ever be suspected of having a modicum of style, but this is beneath even his level.'

'Style,' Hermione bit out, 'wasn't really my concern at that time.'

'But it always should be,' Lucius replied, demonstrating what he meant by artistically spearing a piece of teacake with his fork. 'If style is your first concern, you have to worry a lot less about morals and similar troublesome considerations.'

Hermione, on whose face indignation, curiosity and the urge to laugh had been battling for predominance, finally gave in to curiosity. 'Does that mean you changed sides because Voldemort lacked style?'

'That, my dear young lady, would imply that the other side had more style, which is certainly not true. No, I defected because I had realized the impossibility of throwing lavish dinner parties when one had to be prepared for an Auror raid during the dessert course. Such disturbances do have a tendency to spoil the guests' memories of a social event, even if the cooking was superb and the wines divine.'

'I thought,' Snape interrupted this monologue, 'that there was no need for second-class histrionics.'

'Never second class, Severus.' Lucius's smile reminded Hermione of a shark.

'Whatever. I would like to return to my initial question: Why did you fall for Scrimgeour's lie, Miss Granger?'

Hermione slowly shook her head. 'I'm not sure, in hindsight. I mean, they showed me a pensieved memory…'

'Did they tell you whose it was?'

'Somebody I didn't know… It doesn't matter, anyway, because you can't fiddle pensieved memories. Maybe, from a certain angle it might have looked as if…' Silence greeted this statement, and Hermione looked up from her cup and at the two wizards sitting opposite her. 'You can't, can you?'

'My dear Miss Granger,' Lucius said, leaning back in his armchair and delicately balancing his cup and saucer on three fingers of his left hand, 'it seems that for all your voracious reading, you somehow failed to get your hands on the right books.'

'What Lucius means,' Snape said, 'is that there are so many so-called truths they teach us, which more malleable individuals' – Hermione opened her mouth to protest but slumped back in the cushions when he lifted his hand – 'which, as I was saying, those who have an innate desire to obey the rules would never dream of challenging. There is no antidote for Veritaserum. There is no way to conserve a Wolfsbane potion for more than five weeks. You can't' – he shot Hermione a significant glance – 'tinker with pensieved memories.'

'Shit,' Hermione said with feeling.

'Exactly. But now I begin to understand how they caught you.'

'But…' Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 'It doesn't make sense. Why would they want to do such a thing to me? And who are "They"?'

Lucius bent forward to get hold of the teapot. '"They", Miss Granger, are the people who have a strong interest in burying the memories of the past years, as deep and as quickly as they can. Minister Scrimgeour, for one. The Department of Law Enforcement, especially the Aurors. Influential people whose allegiance was never quite clear. Do you want me to continue?'

'N-not really.' Hermione stood up, her face ashen. 'I think I'll have to lie down for a while.'

When the door had closed behind her, the two men looked at each other in silence.

Lucius was the first to break it. 'They do have a surprisingly pleasant Pinot Gris here,' he said. 'I trust you won't object to having a bottle or two outside, in the shade?'

'Definitely one of your better ideas, my friend,' Snape murmured. 'We seem to have a lot to catch up on.'

vvv

'Splendid day, really,' Lucius said. He lifted his glass towards Snape in a silent toast, tasted the wine, nodded and arranged himself more comfortably on the blanket. A smile was playing around his lips.

Snape brought his glass close to his nose, sniffed, and took a first sip. 'Very pleasant indeed.' He drank again. 'So, whence the Cheshire Cat smile?'

'I was just thinking,' Lucius said dreamily, 'that the idiots running this place really did us a favour.'

'Hm. Yes, they did. Do you think they meant to?'

'I am not quite sure about that. Maybe. They may be intellectual dwarves, but they might have wondered about a few things.'

'Such as?'

'Such as, for example, that nobody ever cared to remove the more obvious traces of that war most of us are bearing.'

'Your hair, you mean. My loss of magic. Miss Granger's missing fingers.'

'There is no need to state the obvious, Severus.' Lucius absentmindedly passed his hand over his bald head. 'But yes, that's what I meant. It would have been difficult but certainly not impossible to get rid of those… stigmata.'

Snape nodded, deep in thought. 'So, do you think the Healers were in on it?'

'No.' Lucius refilled their glasses. 'They might have received instructions not to make any attempts at healing us, but their oath-'

'-is an unbreakable vow,' Snape finished the sentence for him. 'Of course. So they couldn't have done anything to harm us. Actively,' he added with a snort, 'and with evil intent. Not that the damage caused by sheer stupidity would be any less harmful. Which begs the question why they put us here, together, in the first place.'

'They might be observing us,' Lucius said calmly, 'Although I am not quite sure who "they" are in this case. The Healers? Scrimgeour's minions?'

A short silence ensued as both men pondered this question.

'We need Granger,' Snape said so abruptly that Lucius spilled some of his wine.

'And what exactly do you mean by that?' he asked, mopping up the drops of liquid from the blanket.

'Think, Lucius. It is quite obvious. I am scarcely able to do any magic, at least for now. You were always better with a wand than without one, and the gods only know which spells and charms they have placed on this house. You remember what Bogglesworth said? Try to hex each other, and the consequences will be unpleasant. If the wards are keyed to perceive any spell you cast as evil…'

Lucius shivered delicately. 'If that is my reward for risking everything I had…'

'Don't wallow,' Snape said tartly. 'Just think of the possibility and its consequences, and try to avoid them. Now Granger is an altogether different matter. Scrimgeour wants her safely tucked away here, but not even he would be able to convince the Healers that she's evil. Not without recurring to those manipulated memories, however, and that surely is a last resort. Therefore, as I was saying, we need Granger. The girl can do wandless magic-'

'Really?' Lucius raised himself on an elbow. 'How fascinating. The chit begins to interest me.'

'Don't let her know that.'

'Why on earth-'

'Lucius.' Snape smiled into his glass. 'Even a muggleborn first-year would know that "Lucius Malfoy is interested in a woman" is a synonym for "Lucius Malfoy means to get his hands under her robes as quickly as possible". Granger certainly knows that. So you better be careful.'

'Well…' Lucius's right index finger circled the rim of his glass until it started to resonate and give off a delicate, lilting sound. 'It's not as if she could hex me…'

'And it's not as if you could put her under Imperius,' Snape countered dryly. 'So you better forget about it.'

'Sex with a woman under Imperius,' Lucius said judiciously, 'is like playing with a tame dragon. Where's the fun in that?'

'You don't get barbecued, to mention just one obvious advantage.'

'But Miss Granger can't barbecue me in these bucolic surroundings, Severus. And why, pray, are you so sure I'd have to put her under Imperius? Seduction has never been among my weak points.'

'Come now, Lucius. She's twenty.'

'I know. What's the point?'

'She's a mere girl.'

'As far as I can remember, I have never been particularly interested in seducing crones.'

'She's not even attractive.'

'Isn't she?' Turning to lie on his back with cat-like laziness, Lucius squinted up at his friend. 'Do I detect a hint of protectiveness? Or even attraction? Hmm?'

Snape looked up at the green canopy and sighed. 'No, Lucius, you don't. She's a student, for Merlin's sake!'

'A student? Do enlighten me, Severus – exactly what makes her a student?'

'She's an ex-student, and that's the end of this discussion.'

'Oh, but this is such a delightful conversation, why end it prematurely?' Lucius sat up and poured more wine. 'How long have you gone without sex, if I may be so indiscreet?'

'Frankness doesn't become you, Lucius.'

'Oh, don't worry, it isn't going to last. Just long enough to tell you this: I haven't had a woman – or any living creature for that matter – for more than two years. I'm fifty-five. Do you think it is natural to abstain from sexual activity for such a long time, at such a young age?'

Snape laughed. It sounded quite hollow. 'Two years? That's nothing. I haven't…' He did some mental calculating, then frowned. 'Six years? Is that possible? I thought it was only four…'

'And here we are, all by ourselves, with a not exactly beautiful but certainly pretty enough girl, and you pretend to have scruples? Because she used to be your pupil?'

Snape reached for the second bottle and started to open it. 'Even if I did let go of my scruples – hypothetically speaking – the fact remains that there's the two of us, but only one woman, ah, girl.'

'So?' Lucius extended his hand holding the glass and beckoned for Snape to refill it. 'I may be experiencing a moment of obtuseness, but I cannot say that I see the problem.'

'It's going to be either you or me. So we'd have to throw a coin. Or wait for her to choose – at least that's how she would probably prefer it.'

Lucius patted his hand. 'Why don't you leave all that seduction business to me? I can guarantee that she won't say no to either of us.'

'Why does the old adage about the cat, the mouse and the milk pot suddenly come to my mind?' Snape sighed, and eyed the wine bottle. 'But since experience has taught me that trying to dissuade you is absolutely useless once you've got that glint in your eye, I won't bother. Only please make sure you don't put her off helping us.'

Lucius grinned. 'Getting her to help us, together with a little plotting, is going to be the point of departure, my friend.'

vvv

After sleeping through most of the afternoon, Hermione was pleasantly surprised to discover, the next morning, that she'd slept through the night as well, and without having any nightmares.

As she sat up in bed, the events of the day before were slowly coming back to her. She was trapped, more or less, in a house together with Snape and Malfoy, who had both behaved more kindly than she'd ever expected. They couldn't harm her, of course, but that didn't mean they had to be nice. Then again, they were dyed-in-the-wool Slytherins and thus wouldn't alienate a possible ally.

Was she a possible ally?

Hermione swung her legs out of the bed, got up and walked over to the window. The day was as bright and sunny as the day before, and she longed to be out in the sunshine.

All things considered, yes, she was a potential ally. Especially after what she'd learned the day before. She felt a wave of nausea threatening to overwhelm her. After all she'd done, after all she'd gone through, would those bastards really…?

Yes, they would, if it served their own interests. She'd seen enough of Scrimgeour and his merry troupe to be sure of that, beyond any doubt. They'd deceived her, blackmailed her, put her away. They'd separated her from the last friends she'd had left, they'd given her therapy that had done more harm than good, they hadn't even tried to heal her hand. They had effectively closed off any avenue she might have tried to take out of this situation.

And now, the Healers had – unwittingly? – thrown her together with two powerful wizards.

Were they really that stupid?

Hermione shook her head and proceeded to the bathroom where she started cleaning her teeth.

Come to think of it, they just might be that stupid. As a rule, wizards were extremely prejudiced, and they didn't abandon their preconceived notions lightly. For most wizards it would be unthinkable to set aside those prejudices in order to reach a common goal. Voldemort had known that, and used that knowledge, but then he'd spent his childhood in the Muggle world. His view of the wizarding world had been different. Snape was a halfblood too, and a very cunning wizard. He knew all about wizards, especially the pure-blooded ones, and their bigotry. Malfoy… Hermione rinsed her mouth and frowned at her mirrored image. Malfoy was definitely the x in the equation. As pure-blooded as they come, more prejudiced than any she'd ever encountered, but also cleverer than most. Snape's friend, too – she'd seen and observed the two of them often enough to be sure of that. But the Healers didn't know that, did they? Maybe they were even ignorant of Snape's part-Muggle origins. Come to think of it, they surely were.

Therefore, this was probably what the staff of Blossomwood thought: Malfoy hated her guts because she was a Mudblood. She hated Snape's guts because everybody who'd sat through his potions lessons did. She hated Malfoy's guts because he'd been a Death Eater and because he despised her. Malfoy hated Snape because he'd betrayed Voldemort – and thus indirectly, him – years ago. Snape hated Malfoy because he'd betrayed Voldemort relatively late, and still got the same treatment as the wizard who'd been spying on the Dark Lord for two decades. And so they'd thrown the three of them together, sure that they'd constantly be at each other's throats, without actually being able to harm each other. And after four weeks, they'd be as docile as lambs, they'd do anything merely to get away from each other's company.

A nice bit of plotting, Hermione thought while shedding her pyjamas and stepping intro the shower, only they'd neglected to make sure they'd got their premises right.

Thank god for putting idiots in all the right places.

vvv

Half an hour later, Hermione emerged from her bedroom and, following the scent of freshly brewed coffee, stepped out onto the terrace where Snape and Malfoy were already having breakfast.

She looked at them pensively. Yes, they really were all in the same boat, or so it seemed. They'd been kept in a state of vulnerability, so they could be manipulated more easily. It was ridiculous, of course, but Malfoy's self-assurance had certainly been weakened by the loss of his glorious hair. Come to think of it, it wasn't that ridiculous. Not much more so than her reluctance to let anybody look at her hand. And Snape – Snape the control freak, the spy, would never venture out among his fellow wizards with his magic being so weak. And so, here they were, conveniently muzzled, a threat to nobody.

Well, that remained to be seen.

'Miss Granger.' Snape acknowledged her presence with a slight nod and gestured towards the empty chair. 'Sit down. We have things to discuss.'

While Malfoy poured her a cup of coffee, she covertly studied the two men. Their expressions didn't give her any clue. How to proceed? Should she let them in on her thoughts, or was it better to wait until they made the first move? But they only had four weeks, and lots to do in relatively little time. Hermione decided to play it straight. 'I've been thinking,' she said, 'and I've come to the conclusion that if we work together, we may have a chance at beating those bastards at their own game.'

Lucius smiled. 'There's nothing like a bit of Gryffindor forwardness to brighten up an already sunny morning. Croissant?'

She took one and continued, 'The way they've been treating us, all of us, is disgusting, to put it mildly. You agree, I suppose?'

'Oh yes,' Snape said. 'But may I suggest' – he beckoned to her with a crooked finger, and she leaned over towards him – 'that, before we start a discussion, you make sure that nobody can listen in on us?'

'Good thinking,' she whispered back. 'But why hasn't he…?' She pointed at Malfoy.

'Not much good without a wand,' Snape murmured, suppressing a grin at his friend's piqued expression. 'Now, if you would do the honours?'

'I'll give it a try.' Snape looked at her questioningly. 'I've never tried wandless detection spells, so I have no idea if I can do them.'

She sat back in her chair, with a look of intense concentration on her face. Both men felt trickles of magic flow over and past them, separating, intertwining again, reaching out towards the walls, high up in the air and down again to the high hedge that surrounded their garden, back and forth, back and forth, until it was finally over.

'Ye gods,' Lucius breathed, his voice husky. 'That was…'

'Impressive,' Snape cut in, giving him a quelling look.

Hermione caught it and frowned. 'What?' she asked, rather sharply. 'What's going on?'

Lucius caught himself and smiled at her. 'Nothing, my dear. Nothing you ought to worry about. It's just that…' He grinned insolently at Snape, in a way that made Hermione's heart ache because it reminded her of Harry and Ron. 'The sensation of powerful magic on your skin can be quite… erotic.'

'Oh.' Hermione blushed and was suddenly very interested in the croissant resting on her plate. 'There are no bugging devices,' she muttered almost inaudibly.

Lucius turned abruptly towards her. 'I beg your pardon? _What_ devices?'

'Bugging, Lucius. She said _bugging_. Muggle expression for spying spells,' he added by way of an explanation, since Lucius still didn't seem to have comprehended. 'So,' he continued in a normal tone of voice, 'this means that we can talk without being overheard. You mentioned something about being disgusted by the way we have been treated, I believe?'

'Yes. And I… I meant to tell you that, well, that if you want to get back at those bastards, I'm offering my help. It seems that we complement each other quite well – Mr. Malfoy-'

'Lucius, please. There is no need for formalities, I am sure.'

'Really?' Hermione looked at him, her doubts clearly showing on her face. 'I mean, I don't have a problem being on a first name basis with you, Mr… Lucius, but this seems a bit sudden.'

'Not as sudden as you seem to believe. We did a bit of talking yesterday, while you were sleeping.'

'And decided you wanted to call me Hermione?'

'As part of the whole parcel, yes, you could say that, Hermione.'

'The whole parcel, I see. And what-'

'Miss Granger,' Snape interrupted her, only to be cut off by Lucius.

'Hermione. You have to call her Hermione, or she won't call you Severus.'

'Well, I…' This time, Snape interrupted himself, to stare at Lucius with an expression somewhere between incredulity and exasperation. 'You really are determined to…' Lucius nodded, in total disregard of Hermione's obvious confusion. 'All right,' Snape said with a sigh. Noticing her bewilderment, he continued, 'Nothing to do with you, Miss…' He rested his forehead on his palms. 'Hermione. I can do this. So, Hermione' – he raised his head again – 'you are offering us your help. Well, we accept it. Gladly. I would suggest that we start by pooling our knowledge and deductions.'

vvv

The three conspirators spent an agreeable morning discussing, pondering and sometimes arguing. When Tipsy the House Elf approached their table, suggesting lunch, they were all surprised that three hours had gone by so quickly.

'Lunch sounds very promising,' Lucius said in the tones of a man who'd spent five years on a deserted island eating roots and drinking rainwater.

Since the sun was now beating down on the terrace, they adjourned to the veranda on the other side of the house.

Lucius drew out a chair for Hermione and solicitously put a cushion behind her back, brushing her shoulder in the process. She gave him a curious look but didn't say anything. They all sat in silence until the starters arrived and, after a brief debate on whether there was to be wine or water (they had both, and Lucius insisted on pouring a glass of the same excellent Pinot Gris they'd had the day before for Hermione), everybody started eating.

'We've certainly arrived at some important conclusions this morning,' Hermione said into the quiet that was only punctuated by the clinking of cutlery on china, 'and I'm sure I've learned all the gossip there ever was about everybody who is anybody in wizarding Britain, but that's not enough.'

'It was an important first step,' Lucius observed between two sips of wine.

'Now you're sounding like one of Percy Weasley's speeches,' she countered.

'Heavy is the burden of the patient one, to quote Baldrick the Befuddled,' Lucius said. 'Though I warn you, Hermione. I may have the patience of Teoderic the Tolerant-'

'You made that one up,' Hermione said after she had finished patting Snape's back. 'Are you okay, Pro-, I mean Severus?'

'Quite. Although you have probably damaged my spine with your merciless blows. No really, I am all right. What were you about to say, Hermione, before insulting Lucius's rhetoric skills?'

'I don't… Oh yes, of course. I meant to say that we ought to, you know, do something. It's all very nice to plan and plot-'

'I would certainly second that,' Lucius observed.

'Yes, but if we seriously mean to get out of here and may be get the others out as well, and to overthrow Scrimgeour, and-'

Lucius put down his glass and stared at her. 'I am beginning to doubt this whole enterprise. I already served one Dark Lord, and that was enough, thank you very much. Doesn't your ambition have any limits, girl?'

'You're one to talk. Besides, I don't want to become Minister of Magic, I merely want to right all those wrongs.'

'That's exactly how things started with Voldemort,' Snape muttered darkly. 'First they want to set things right, and then… But you have to promise not to turn yourself into something reptilian.'

'Absolutely,' Lucius said, nodding. 'Snakeskin is acceptable if used for shoes or handbags, but' – he caressed Hermione's forearm with his index finger – 'it would be a shame to turn _this_ into something cold and scaly.'

Flustered and blushing, Hermione promptly upset her wineglass. 'Anyway,' she said after Tipsy had cleaned up, 'we have to start making plans. You, L-Lucius' – Malfoy noted with satisfaction that she had trouble meeting his look – 'are good with your wand-'

'You have no idea,' he purred. Snape rolled his eyes but remained silent.

'But,' she continued doggedly, 'you're obviously not much use without one. I, on the other hand, have a relatively narrow repertoire, compared to yours, but I can do wandless magic, not too badly, I believe.'

'If those detection spells you cast at breakfast were any indication, you are doing quite well,' Snape said. 'Yes, Miss Gr-, Hermione, I just acknowledged that you are a powerful witch who handles her magic admirably. Could you please limit your blushing and gasping to the absolute minimum? Thank you.'

'I just… It's just… You're both being so nice, this is just too good to be true,' she blurted out. 'You simply aren't like that, you are-'

'Ye-es, Hermione? Pay attention, Severus, now comes the interesting bit.'

'Well, you've always despised me,' she said, addressing Lucius, 'because I'm a Mudblood, and probably also because I'm a girl…'

'Which quite admirably disproves your point, Severus – remember yesterday's discussion concerning muggleborn first-years? My dear girl,' he said amiably, 'you may be right concerning my past attitude towards Muggleborns, but really, this _is_ a thing of the past. Pray, do consider me reformed, at least as far as that particular prejudice is concerned. Besides, I think it may be safely assumed that I know a trifle more about female magic than you do, and it would never occur to me to despise a witch merely because she is a woman.'

'Hear, hear,' Snape interjected, the words virtually dripping with irony.

'What's more,' Lucius continued, totally ignoring Snape, 'you haven't seen that much of either of us to give a final verdict on our characters, now have you?'

'No, but-'

'Exactly my point. Therefore you obviously cannot know that both Severus and myself are capable of being quite charming, if we so desire.'

'Yes, but why-'

'There is no reason why we shouldn't be and we have every reason to be, given the circumstances. So I suggest you continue your speech and enjoy the charming company.'

Hermione eyed the two men doubtfully. 'If you say so. But I'll be on my guard.'

'One always should be, my dear. Ah, here comes the trout. Maybe you would be so kind as to continue, Hermione? I would like to have finished today's debate at dessert, since I'm feeling an increasing desire for an afternoon nap. One may sleep well on a full stomach, but never on an unfinished discussion, don't you think?'

Hermione didn't answer, for she was totally lost in contemplation of the two men's hands manipulating knife and fork, whilst they adroitly de-boned their fish. She'd always had a thing for hands, and these four specimens were among the nicest she'd ever set her eyes on. Snape's hands were narrower, the bones and sinew clearly defined under his skin, the fingers long with blunt, square tips. Malfoy's were long-fingered too, but broader, and they somehow looked more solid.

In the end, her musings brought her back to the subject of wands. 'I'd like to propose as our first action that we make a wand for each of us,' she said.

'Ah.' Snape briefly interrupted the surgical deconstruction of his trout and gestured for her to continue. 'And how do you suggest we do that?'

'I already thought about it,' Hermione announced proudly, 'and I know exactly what we'll do. There's a birch over there, so I'll cut twigs of the right size with a severing charm. Then we'll slice them open, put in some of Crookshanks' hair, et voilà…'

'Et voilà, we'll have three pieces of wood containing a bit of cat hair,' Snape observed mildly. 'Really, Hermione, the wine must have muddled your thinking. Or do you really believe that wand making is that easy?'

'I didn't claim it would be a first-class wand,' she countered, visibly deflating.

'It would, as I said, be a piece of wood with cat hair, nothing more and nothing less.'

'Half-Kneazle hair,' she corrected, but somehow her heart didn't seem to be in it.

'Whatever. But we need a wand.'

Lucius re-entered the debate just before it degenerated into bickering. 'Hermione's idea isn't entirely without merit,' he said slowly, 'Although we'd need the right spells to accomplish it.'

Hermione brightened immediately. 'See? If we have the right spells, we can do it. And the right spells are in the right books, and… oh, bugger.'

'Hmm.' Lucius arranged the skin and bones of his trout in an artistic mosaic on his plate. 'Books, yes. I do have them, of course. They're all in my library…'

'But we can't get there.' Snape pushed away his plate. 'Look, this is useless. Why waste precious time on pining after lost libraries, if…' He stopped abruptly, staring at Tipsy the House Elf who was busy clearing the table. 'Wait,' he whispered, 'I might just have had an inspiration.'


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

A well-aimed Petrificus Totalus had frozen Tipsy the elf in mid-movement.

'Her hands are in the hot water,' Hermione said, pointing at the steaming kitchen sink where the elf had been washing the dishes.

'Big deal,' Lucius said. 'Now come here and pronounce the unbinding charm.'

'Are you sure it works on a petrified elf?' Snape asked, eyeing the scene with unease.

'Of course I am. That's how I used to steal all of Uncle Brutus's House Elves, when I was a boy. It was worth the paddling I got…'

'And are you sure,' Hermione interrupted this moment of childhood nostalgia, 'that the poor thing will really be bound to you, if we both perform the binding charm?'

'I have lost count of how many times you've asked that question,' Lucius answered, impatience vibrating in his voice. 'I'll repeat one last time that, yes, if I speak it aloud and you merely think it in unison with my words, yes, the blasted creature will be bound to me.'

Although she had long since given up her S.P.E.W. ambitions, Hermione briefly felt sorry for Tipsy. Three days spent in the company of Snape and Malfoy, however, seemed to have brought out a certain ruthlessness in her. There were priorities, after all, and getting out of this place certainly had precedence over the well-being of a single house elf.

She had learned the unbinding charm by heart, and pronounced it correctly. Now came the bit she dreaded, and not for Tipsy's sake. In order to combine her and Lucius's powers, they had to stand very close. Correction: they practically had to meld into each other. They'd practised synchronizing during the last two days, and she still hadn't quite worked out whether the discomfort she felt was due to her liking or disliking such close physical contact with Lucius Malfoy. Or rather, she had worked it out, but didn't want to admit to herself that she actually enjoyed the feeling of his body against hers. Or the way Professor Snape, no Severus, looked at them while they stood glued to one another. Casting spells like this, in tandem, was the most intimate thing she'd ever done – the few inexpert fumblings with Ron during the summer holiday following their seventh year didn't even qualify as intimate compared to this – and being observed while engaging in such an intimate act was… weird. But not bad. Definitely nod bad. It was… titillating – Hermione had decided that morning in the shower that this was the correct expression.

Nothing, however, could have prepared her for the rush of sensation she experienced when they performed the charm for real. It was like the time she'd practised for the recitation at her elementary school, at home, in the privacy of her own room, and had been totally unprepared for having to step up on the podium to do it for real, with all those people watching. However, this wasn't stage nerves, this was magic, and she was now an adult. There was a heady rush of something wild and totally elemental, nothing to do with rationality or control or anything even remotely intellectual.

She was relieved to sense Lucius's heart beating erratically against her back, and to hear his heavy breathing. If she had to feel totally overwhelmed, at least she wasn't the only one.

Then, another shock. His lips briefly brushed the nape of her neck when they finally came apart. Or had she been mistaken? Had that ephemeral but intense contact of lips on sweaty skin taken place only in her imagination?

She cast him a furtive look but his face gave nothing away. Not for her to read, at least. Tipsy seemed to read a whole lot of things in his face, and none of them pleasant, to judge by her dismal expression.

'You,' Lucius said to the elf in a voice so steely and devoid of any warmth that for the first time in days, Hermione remembered that this had been Voldemort's right-hand man, 'are bound to me now. I am your master, and you will obey my every word.'

'Yes, Master Lucius,' Tipsy squealed.

'Very well. My first commandment is this: You shall not mention your change of master to anybody besides Mistress Hermione, Master Severus and myself. Neither is anything of what we do or say here to leave the confines of this house. Understood?'

'Yes, Master Lucius.'

'And here is your first task: You will Apparate to Malfoy Manor and bring me the following books from my library. Are you paying attention?' The elf nodded spasmodically, ears flapping. 'Make Your Own Wand in Twenty-Five Easy Steps, by Clorinda Vance. Second: A Short Treaty on Restorative Spells by Paracelsus Vanderbilt. And third, Madam Wickerbill's Practical Manual of Beauty-Enhancing Potions. Then you will go to the workroom in the basement, to retrieve the following articles: one cauldron size three and one onyx stirring rod, to then proceed to the storeroom next door and take one jar of pickled cockroach legs, and a box of dried Indian shrivelfigs. Have I made myself clear?'

The last 'Yes, Master' was still echoing in the room when Tipsy disappeared with a loud crack.

'She must be really pissed-off,' Snape remarked lightly, 'They do have a tendency to crack more loudly when they are angry.'

'Tell me something I don't know,' Lucius said, waving his hand in resignation. 'Imagine the ruckus when fifty pissed-off House Elves are cleaning up after a really raucous party… You were splendid my dear,' he said to Hermione, casually putting his arm round her shoulders. 'But this must have exhausted you. Are you sure you're feeling quite well?'

Hermione valiantly tried to give an impression of witchly staunchness but failed. She felt dizzy, and exhausted, and suddenly very small and vulnerable. 'I…' she began, but had to stop talking because all that came out of her mouth was a pitiful wail, followed by a torrent of tears. She stumbled against Lucius, who tightened his hold on her.

Dizzy as she felt, she had to close her eyes and thus didn't see the imperceptible nod Lucius gave Snape. Snape nodded back and left the room, looking back over his shoulder only once. He softly closed he door.

'There, there,' Lucius cooed, 'You'd better lie down for a moment.' He guided her to the couch in front of the fireplace. Caught in an onslaught of emotion, all Hermione could do was smile weakly at him.

'I don't know what's happening to me,' she muttered, while Lucius gently sat her down on the couch and lifted up her legs after she'd let herself fall back into the cushions.

'You have just performed some very powerful magic,' he said, kneeling down next to her. 'Binding spells may not look complicated, but they require an unusual amount of energy. And you had to divide your focus between myself and the House Elf.'

His palm cupped her cheek and she leaned into the contact, hungry for warmth and closeness. She'd been so lonely for so long, and she'd used up so much of her energy denying it. And now that she'd finally acknowledged her need, she found that she didn't care that the man giving to her what she craved so much was Lucius Malfoy. She turned her head until she could kiss his palm. His hand smelled faintly of cologne and sweat – a mixture she suddenly found very enticing. She gently bit the soft swell at the base of his thumb.

A lesser man would have pounced on her that very moment. Not so Lucius. He was a predator by nature, but of the kind that enjoys playing with its prey for a while, before biting to kill. And so he played. His thumb gently stroked her eyebrows and the bridge of her nose, while he moved a little closer to her, inserting his other arm between her back and the cushions. His cheek came to rest on hers, and so they remained for a few minutes, Hermione shivering whenever his breath caressed her ear, and Lucius holding her closer with every shiver he felt running through her body.

He didn't need to interrupt the moment and risk pushing her away; Tipsy the elf did that for him, and he could hardly suppress a smirk when he saw the thunderous glare she shot at the already quivering creature.

'I brings all the bookses you requires, Master Lucius,' Tipsy squeaked, staggering under her heavy load, 'and the cauldrons and the-'

'Just put it all on the table,' he spat, 'and then bring some tea, for Merlin's sake. With chocolate cake, of course,' he added, brushing the faintest of kisses over Hermione's earlobe before getting to his feet.

It was the most erotic sensation she'd ever experienced.

Strangely enough, neither could Lucius recall a similar moment of unalloyed sensuality.

vvv

Apart from providing a handy excuse for almost but not quite snogging Lucius Malfoy, unbinding and rebinding Tipsy had also really weakened Hermione.

After they'd eaten their dinner in companionable silence, she therefore left the two men poring over the books Lucius had ordered, and retired to her room for a bit of quiet self-flagellation. She was a girl who liked to do things the right way, so she meticulously cleaned her teeth, washed her face, changed into her pyjamas and settled, with Crookshanks in her lap, on the settee in front of the fireplace, waiting for contrition to set in. One couldn't start lacerating one's back, or soul for that matter, without the proper amount of contrition.

But the deity or saint or whoever was responsible for making people feel contrite seemed to be on holiday, and the longer she waited the less mortified did she feel about what had happened in the afternoon.

She called Tipsy and ordered some hot chocolate with a splash of rum, and because being called Mistress Hermione did hold a certain appeal, she called again and ordered some chocolate chip biscuits. That was pride and gluttony in one go, so maybe if she was able to squeeze in a few more deadly sins, she'd finally feel contrition.

The chocolate was lovely, just the right temperature and texture, and the biscuits were scrumptious, if she said so herself. But still no contrition, though nobody could accuse her of not having tried really hard.

And since she didn't want to waste time waiting for something she was now sure wasn't going to happen, she decided that she may just as well go over the afternoon's events once again. Merely to analyze her feelings, of course.

After three cups of chocolate and a rather large amount of biscuits she had come to the following conclusions:

First – she rather liked being called Mistress, although she'd rather hear the word pronounced in the silky timbre of one Lucius Malfoy. Or Severus Snape, whose voice she liked even better. She wasn't quite sure whose hands she preferred, but when it came to voices, the prize went to Snape without any doubt.

Second – she had repeatedly felt Malfoy's body pressed against hers over the last three days, and she definitely liked that, too. Snape, who had been hit by a Hunger Curse, poor thing, was still too far on the emaciated side, but she was sure she'd come to appreciate the feel of his body melting into hers, once there was a little more flesh on those sharp bones. She'd have to think of a reason for melting into each other, though – maybe they could alienate another of Blossomwood's House Elves?

Third – she was twenty years old, and she'd had sex exactly four times in those twenty years. So at least she wasn't a virgin anymore, but that was cold comfort. She certainly felt like a virgin. Like a very horny virgin who'd got the promise of Lucius Malfoy's hands all over her body.

Tipsy had really put quite a big splash of rum into that chocolate, hadn't she? Well, what else to expect from a creature with an inebriated name.

Hermione decided that she definitely had to order one more cup, merely to verify her suspicion.

Five minutes later, the steaming cup was resting on her belly, well, occasionally it seemed there were two cups. One and a half cup. Two cups. Then again, this was the wizarding world, so why be baffled by the seemingly impossible?

Hermione slowly sipped her fourth cup and allowed her mind to wander back to where it had been impatiently waiting to go. Lucius without his hair. She hoped for his sake that he and Snape would find a cure in that textbook… not because she didn't find him attractive with his bald head, but because he seemed to have a hard time accepting it… Lucius, so close to her, his cheek resting on hers, all the blood in her body rushing towards her lower belly when she bit his hand…

For the first time in years, she felt strong and free. The choice was hers, she was the one who decided whether to go to his room or not. She had power. She was strong.

And then, she was asleep.

vvv

Snape and Lucius had retired to the comfy armchairs near the fireplace – warm though the weather was during the day, the evenings were still quite chilly – and were currently brooding over their books.

Severus closed his eyes for a moment and let his head sink back against the upholstery of his chair. This was the most relaxed, most healthy and, yes, also the most serene he had been feeling in years. It may only last for a few weeks – or less, if the powers that be caught wind of what exactly they were doing during their seclusion – but it was a welcome break, and he'd decided to make the best of it the moment he'd set foot into the house.

His magic was slowly returning, he could feel it – being deprived of it had been one of the worst sensations he'd ever experienced. It was almost as bad as not being able to breathe.

Opening his eyes, he looked across at Lucius, who was so intent on studying the text resting on his knees that he obviously wasn't aware of being scrutinized.

He was looking a lot better too, Severus thought. And once they'd brewed the potion to restore his hair, the conceited bastard would surely be his old self again. Almost. He'd lost a lot – his wife (not that he seemed to care overly much), his fortune, and it remained to be seen whether he'd also lost his son. There had been an exchange of rather formal letters between father and son, but before anything more could be attempted, Percy Weasley's glorious idea had put a stop to their lives. A temporary stop, hopefully.

'Are you quite done ogling me,' Lucius said without looking up from his book, 'or would you like me to change position, so you may study me from a different angle?'

'Quite done. But if you could temporarily tear your attention from that book and direct it at my humble self-'

'I'm reading this text for _your_ good, Severus,' Lucius replied tartly. But he closed the book, put a finger between the pages he'd been perusing, and looked at Snape.

'I'll have to ask a question you won't like,' Snape began, 'but the answer might be important. Just think of yourself as a patient, and of me as a Healer,' he added with a smirk, 'and be sure that whatever you tell me is going to remain between the two of us. Patient confidentiality, you know.'

'If I thought of you as a Healer, you'd be a pile of smouldering ashes by now.' He leaned back and smiled his shark smile. 'Go on, ask.'

Severus put his book on the small side table next to his armchair, rested his elbows on his knees and cleared his throat. 'Which curse exactly were you hit with?'

He didn't need to give any further details; Lucius knew exactly what he was talking about. 'They asked me that question a hundred times at St. Mungo's. And I can only tell you what I told them: I have no idea. I didn't hear the words – provided they were even spoken aloud – and I was unable to identify the caster. Considering that it practically wiped out all my red blood cells, it might have been some variation of the Exsanguis, but I would lie if I told you I was sure about that.'

'But you would agree with me,' Snape continued, 'that the symptoms were very similar to those of anaemia?'

'Yes, absolutely. The mediwizards seemed to think along the same lines, since they treated me with blood replenishing potions, and those did the trick. Although,' he added, grimacing at the thought, 'the taste was truly horrible.'

'The worse the medicine tastes, the better it works. But let's go on: Hair loss is a known symptom of anaemia. Did they give you anything for that?'

Lucius frowned. 'And I was wondering when the really nasty questions would come. Yes, as a matter of fact, they did give me a hair growth potion.'

'And it didn't work?'

'Quite obviously not.' Lucius glared.

'Yes, well, that's really obvious. But strange, don't you think? The blood replenishing potion worked, but the hair growth potion didn't?' Lucius merely shrugged. 'Very well. Now I want you to concentrate on how it tasted and smelled.'

Lucius threw his hands up. 'How am I supposed to remember that? It happened more than half a year ago, and although I am loathe to admit that there are some things you are better at than myself, I'm sure you are aware of the fact that your sense of taste and smell is far superior to mine.'

'Don't be such a drama queen. I'm trying to get to a very important point here. Let's try it the other way round: Did the potion smell of lavender?'

'Lavender? No, it certainly didn't.' Lucius closed his eyes. 'It didn't smell flowery at all. Come to think of it, there was a faint aroma of.. resin, I'd say.'

Snape nodded. 'Resin. Any hint of… vanilla?'

'No… not vanilla, but… wait, it's coming back to me, wait… it was… it was… cinnamon. Yes, I'm sure. Cinnamon.' He opened his eyes. 'Are we getting anywhere yet?'

'Oh yes, we are,' Snape said grimly. 'The presence of cinnamon – or I should rather say, its aroma, makes me believe that whoever brewed that potion put in a small dose of Nepalese – never mind,' he interrupted himself. 'This ingredient counteracts the main ingredient. If brewed correctly, the potion ought to smell of resin and vanilla, mostly. The fact that it didn't speaks for itself, I think.' He leaned back and crossed his arms. 'You might have detected that yourself, of course, but you always used to suck at potions.'

'I used to suck at a great many things, though certainly not in the sense you are implying.'

'No need to remind me – my recollections of your philandering youth are quite vivid. But you didn't even pay attention when Slughorn taught lust potions.'

'That's because I had absolutely no use for them. But, to return to the initial question: Do you think a correctly brewed hair growth potion will be able to… cure me?'

'I'm quite sure. The only problem is, I can't brew it because my magic is still at a very low level.'

'Let the girl do it, then.'

'Not if I can avoid it. What does Madam Wickerbill have to say about the relation between weight, beauty and magic?

'Sounds quite encouraging,' Lucius said, opening the book again. 'It basically says that beauty means the perfect balance between a healthy body and that healthy body's magic. The definition of health, on the other hand, refers, among others, to body weight. Ideal body weight, of course, which varies from individual to individual. What if' – he looked at Snape and grinned – 'your ideal weight turns out to be fifteen stones? Would you prefer to be a fat but powerful wizard, or-'

'Oh, come on,' Snape interrupted him. 'I think I may confidently describe myself as a fairly powerful wizard, before that hunger curse hit me. And I never weighed more than eleven stones.'

'Little enough, considering you're taller than I am. So, what do you think? First Madam Wickerbill's weight-balancing potion and then a restorative spell cast by our very own bossy know-it-all? That ought to do the job. Or don't you trust her with that potion either?'

Snape made a nonchalant gesture. 'A first-year could brew that.'

'You were wrong about what first-years do and don't know already once.'

'Maybe, but I'm absolutely sure about this one. She can do it, and most certainly will do it. Then the restorative spell, then your hair, and then…' He paused. 'Her hand, I think.'

Lucius exhaled sharply. 'That is going to require quite a lot of work.'

'Yes, and that's exactly why I want the two of us to be in prime condition before we start. Besides, we'll have to make wands for all three of us. She is good without one, but much better with it.'

'The three of us together.' Lucius sighed dreamily. 'Doesn't that give you lots of deliciously wicked ideas?'

vvv

When Hermione woke up, it was dark. Fortunately the fire hadn't yet burned down completely, and her room was lit by its soft orange glow. The mellow light reached as far as the corner where the clock stood. Half past two in the morning.

Hermione yawned, got up and went to brush her teeth. There simply was no such thing as going to bed – whose bed? – after chocolate and biscuits, without cleaning one's teeth.

Whose bed, that really was the crucial question. She'd been slightly drunk before she fell asleep, so here was the golden opportunity to think things over with a more sober mind. Flagellation was now completely out of the question, it was either paying Lucius a visit or going to bed and forgetting about the whole sex business. At least for the rest of the night. One could never be sure, after all, what the next day might bring. Another hormone overload probably, if she had to look at those hands…

Her thought process came to a standstill at the same time as herself. She was standing in front of the door to Lucius Malfoy's bedroom, her fingers already touching the handle. Gryffindor forwardness, he'd said. Well, she was going to show him Gryffindor forwardness, and if it was the last thing she did.

vvv

Contrary to public opinion, Lucius had never enjoyed being up until the small hours of the morning.

He'd had an empire to run, he had to get up early almost every day, and he liked his creature comforts, oh yes he did. Sleeping eight hours was one of them, and he tried to get this amount of sleep whenever he could. Although he would never admit it to anybody, sleep deprivation had been a powerful, if certainly not the most important, motive for his betrayal of the Dark Lord. And, much as he hated Blossomwood, at least he got enough sleep there.

Severus and he had stayed up late, studying the twenty-five steps of DIY wand making and writing down the lists of ingredients for the potions they'd have to prepare. Most of them were available on the Blossomwood grounds (Madam Wickerbill had been a stalwart believer in all things home-grown), the shrivelfig and cockroach legs had been fetched from Malfoy Manor by Tipsy, and so there were only three more left they'd have to send the House Elf for on the next day. They'd decided to stop working when none of them was able any more to pretend he didn't have difficulties keeping his eyes open, and retired to their respective rooms.

Lucius had fallen asleep immediately after going to bed, shortly past midnight. The fact that they had irrigated the arid fields of scientific research with a few glasses of Ogden's Very Old might have shortened his journey towards sleep.

Slumber was pleasant, but certainly not as pleasant as being woken by a woman's body insinuating itself under the covers. Still half asleep, Lucius sought and found the body parts which told him that, yes, this was clearly a female body. He nuzzled a firm breast while his right hand crept to the hot, wet spot between her thighs.

She squeaked.

Lucius woke up completely and stared into Hermione Granger's face. He kissed her, merely to give his brain time to catch up with the situation. It did, and immediately informed him that she'd just brushed her teeth, but there was a lingering trace of alcohol on her breath. Shagging a woman who was drunk was almost as unsatisfying as shagging a woman under the Imperius Curse.

So Lucius slowly retrieved his right hand from between her legs, and his tongue from her mouth, and uttered one of the least original phrases ever to leave his lips. 'Well, this is… unexpected.'

'Really?' she purred.

'Well, yes. I wouldn't have expected you so soon, therefore "unexpected" seems to sum it up quite nicely.'

'Do you mind?', she asked, sounding a little anxious.

'On the contrary. But wouldn't it be nice to wait till morning? So we'd both be sober enough to decide…'

'Look, Lucius, I'm the rule-following, rational, boring person in this bed. You' – her hand wandered over his chest and found that he was… naked? Well at least down to the waistline. Oh God. 'You,' she continued, her tone of voice now slightly less self-assured, 'You are supposed to be the serial seducer here.'

'You are doing a rather nice job of seducing yourself, my dear,' Lucius replied, trying to catch that stubbornly errant hand. He finally succeeded and pulled it from under the covers, to gently suck at her index finger. 'If a little bluntly – not that that isn't welcome at times. Gryffindor,' he whispered into her ear and proceeded to explore it with his tongue.

The hormones that were being released into her bloodstream had a slightly sobering effect. 'I'm not very experienced.' Getting a little more sober did not change her decision to have sex with Lucius Malfoy in the slightest, she noted with satisfaction. So she promptly put her hand back on his chest and ventured a bit downwards. 'Is that… a problem?'

'Not very or not at all?'

'Not at all would mean I'm a virgin?'

Lucius decided to give up his efforts at catching her hand again, and instead started some exploring of his own. Her breasts were nice and plump – he liked them slightly smaller but certainly wasn't going to complain – her bum even rounder than he'd thought, which was definitely a point in her favour, and her belly was positively delightful. He caressed it in slow, circling motions. '"Not at all" would mean you're a virgin, yes.'

'Well, I'm not. I did have… sex with Ron. A few times.' She inhaled sharply at the sensation of his fingers teasing her pubic hair.

'A few times.' Lucius propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at her face. The faint shine of a single candle burning on the dresser across the room did not provide much light, but he could see her smile quite clearly. 'And how many, if I may be so bold as to inquire?'

Hermione was of course anxious to get to the real sex part of all this – not least because she suspected her courage might abandon her somewhere along the road – but this lying close together, talking and exploring, was really nice. She and Ron hadn't had much of that, unless you counted his enthusiastic renditions of Quidditch anecdotes while he squeezed her breasts every which way. He'd really been willing to get it all right, poor dear, and he'd even read the books she'd given him (although she suspected that he'd just looked at the pictures whilst having a good wank), but somehow the fireworks she's expected had turned out to be matches at best.

The duvet had slipped down over Lucius's shoulders, and she could see his silhouette clearly in the honeyed halo of candlelight. She reached up and followed that nicely muscled line with her hands. 'How many times? Well, that depends, I'd say.'

The hand that had been playing with her pubic hair moved a little further. 'Depends?'

'Ye-es,' she said, involuntarily digging her nails into his shoulder when his fingertip brushed across her clit. 'It – oh my god, do that again, please!'

Lucius obliged. 'Wait until I do that with my tongue,' he whispered, making her yelp. 'But I think you still owe me an answer.'

'It… ohmygodohmygod, it depends on whether you count on how many days we did it, I which case the answer would be two, or-'

'I think I get the picture,' Lucius said dryly. 'Did you like it?'

'One is rather supposed to, I guess. It wasn't bad, just… well, not very exciting. I was glad when it was over.' She arched into his touch. 'Whereas right now, I'm already thinking of finding ways to make it last longer.'

'I doubt whether I'm going to last very long,' Lucius said, parting her legs with his knee, 'but I am certainly going to do my best.'

When he slowly slid home, the last coherent thought Hermione had was that this was maybe less dramatic, but certainly a lot better than casting spells in tandem.

vvv

Since neither of them was used to sharing a bed, Lucius and Hermione woke up at the same time, not sure who had been the first to stir.

There was a short, awkward moment, but it didn't last very long, because Hermione's hand encountered his morning erection. Lucius, who'd had no idea that he was that good a teacher, explained to his rapt audience of one that this was a phenomenon common to all men.

'Really?' Hermione said, 'Well, that's one of nature's better ideas.' She half-kneeled, half sat down on his thighs, to give his cock a thorough look-over.

'My dear' – Lucius propped himself up on his elbows – 'I am not usually known for a lack of self-assurance, but this continued and almost scientific examination of one's cock is apt to inspire certain doubts even in the bravest among us.'

'Oh, no!' Hermione's right hand – and he noticed that she made an effort to conceal her left – closed around his cock, stroking gently. Lucius fell back into the nest of cushions and groaned. 'He is… he or it?'

'What… ever,' Lucius moaned.

'It is really impressive, it's just that I never had the occasion to study one from this close and by daylight. You like that, don't you?' she addressed the cock, rubbing it in a way that made Lucius's eyes roll back in his head. 'Am I doing it right?'

'Yessss. It feels marvellous, just please don't talk to it like you talk to your cat. Please.'

'All right.' She scooted back and bent down until her lips almost touched the tip of his penis. 'I'm sorry for asking so many questions, but sucking is okay, isn't it?' She had seen Lucius Malfoy angry, haughty, sleazily diplomatic, and dangerous. But never had she believed she'd see the day when Lucius Malfoy succumbed to a fit of laughter that made tears stream down his cheeks.

'You,' he said, pulling her forward and into his arms, 'are so very sweet.' He kissed the tip of her nose. 'And now, I'll give you a very useful piece of advice: When it comes to sex, it's all learning by doing. No questions. You try, you listen, and of course' – he lifted her seemingly without effort and positioned her over his cock – 'you feel.' He let her slide down. 'Good?'

Hermione nodded, too overwhelmed to say anything. They'd made love twice the past night, with him on top, and she'd thought she might burst from sheer pleasure. When she woke up, she'd been a little sore and unsure whether she could do it again anytime soon. The soreness still lingered, but instead of diminishing the pleasure, it somehow increased it.

'Move, sweet,' he whispered.

And she did. A little awkward at first, but then she became sure of her movements and rode him with abandon. She closed her eyes, the better to feel his hands roaming over her torso, fondling her breasts, and to listen to his ragged breath. Droplets of sweat formed on her forehead and upper lip, but when she leaned forward to kiss him she could feel that he was sweating too. And then she sensed her orgasm creeping up on her, slowly; it was building up deep within her, and she was torn between the desire to let it wash over her now, now, now, and the wish that this sensation of not almost-but-not-quite being there may never end.

She bent down to kiss him again, and this time he held her close, slightly changing his position, and then the angle and the friction were oh so right, and she just let go, enjoying the feeling of him deep inside her. He deftly inserted a hand between their bodies, found her clit and pressed. The fireworks exploded, and Hermione lost all sense of time and space.

When she came to, she was still sprawled all over him.

'Next time, we'll have to do something about your hair,' he observed, trying to get the mass of frizz away from his nose. 'It really tickles awfully.'

'Mm-hmmm,' was all she could say.

'And a soundproofing charm might not go amiss either,' he said while gently stroking her back. 'You are quite vocal, young lady.'

'Oh.' Grimacing at the soreness in her thigh muscles, she sat up, her palms firmly planted on his chest. 'Do you think that Professor, I mean that Severus… Oh, no!' she groaned, because he just grinned at her, quite unrepentantly, she thought. 'We're about to have breakfast together, all three of us, and I'll be so embarrassed!'

Lucius turned to his side, thus gently depositing her in the cushions, and drew the duvet over them, 'Well,' he said, 'I do of course understand that you'll be feeling a trifle awkward. But' – he grabbed a pillow and stuffed it under his head – 'just think how awkward he must be feeling. I mean,' he explained, seeing her questioning look, 'here we are, all shagged out and post-coitally sated – he must feel excluded, don't you think?'

'We can hardly _in_clude him,' she murmured into his shoulder.

'Do you mean we can't or we don't want to?'

'That's not the point. Just imagine how he'd react if we asked him!'

'He can only react _if_ we ask him, sweet. So the question whether we can't or don't want to is very much the point.'

Something must have changed during that night, Hermione thought, because if it hadn't, she surely would have jumped out of his bed and run screaming back to her room, to lock herself in and never come out again. But she had had a taste of adventure – well, not only of that – and she was feeling wanton and like a grown woman whose god-given right it was to decide whether she wanted to have a threesome with two ex-Death Eaters or not. 'That's true,' she said, 'But maybe we ought to wait until he's feeling a little better. He still looks a bit frail.'

'Bony, you mean,' Lucius said. They looked into each other's eyes and giggled.

vvv

Back in her own room, Hermione looked at her robes with disfavour and decided that she'd wear her jeans and a shirt instead. She was muggleborn after all, so why not dress Muggle style if she felt like it? Her trainers were old and shabby, but who needed shoes when the sun was warm?

So she stepped out onto the terrace looking, Severus thought, quite sinfully young and appetizing. 'Good morning, Hermione,' he said, waving her to the chair at his left. 'You slept well, I hope?

Her furious blush told him all he needed to know – he had not, in fact, heard anything, neither during the night nor that morning – and he shook his head. A young girl in love with Lucius was certainly not what they needed, not if they wanted to keep the atmosphere as placid as it had hitherto been. But he decided not to comment on the matter, and instead told Hermione about the work he and Lucius had been doing the night before.

'A weight balancing potion?' Hermione said, immediately drawn into the subject. 'I've never heard of that before. And you think I can brew it?'

'It is not very complex, so I am sure you are capable of preparing it, and besides I will be there to help, if necessary.' He gestured towards the kitchen window. 'The kitchen will have to do in lieu of a laboratory. At least it offers sufficient work space.'

He proceeded to explain the beneficial effect both Lucius and he expected the potion to have. They were just discussing the finer points of the restorative spell she would have to cast, when Lucius joined them. Completely ignoring Severus's reprimanding stare, he helped himself to coffee and loaded his plate with egg, toast and bacon. 'So,' he said, 'did you two already discuss today's schedule?'

'I thought,' Severus said, eyeing his friend over the rim of his coffee cup, 'that you and Hermione might go and collect the herbs on our list. In the meantime, I have to study another text – I took the liberty of sending Tipsy back to the Manor early this morning.'

Lucius was about to ask about the text, but an almost imperceptible nod from Snape in Hermione's direction made him close his mouth again. He nodded back, with a furtive glance at her left hand. A look of understanding passed between the two men – you didn't spy undercover for months together without learning to understand each other without talking, if necessary. 'I certainly don't have any objections to going for a walk in such pleasant weather,' Lucius said, 'And since I am not too well-versed in the art of herb-picking, Hermione's company would be as useful as it is pleasant.' He buttered a piece of toast. 'Does that mean Hermione can start making your potion today?'

'That would rather be the point of your expedition,' Snape retorted, putting a very slight emphasis on 'that'.

'Of course. Any ideas how long after you ingest it she may cast the spell?'

'I think,' - Hermione, who'd been feeling unfairly excluded from the conversation these last minutes, stabbed the air with her croissant - 'that there's no point in waiting after the potion has taken effect. Not if you bear in mind Madam Wickerbill's concept of the perfect balance – the sooner you restore that, the more stable it's going to be.'

'Which means,' Lucius said, his voice vibrating with something Severus couldn't quite identify, 'that Severus will be back to his own self by tonight.'

Unexplainably to the subject of their exchange, Hermione was so flustered by that statement that she choked on a piece of her croissant.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

'I think,' Hermione said, 'that Healer Bogglesworth deserves an Order of Merlin, Third Class at the very least, for having sent us to this exile. I mean, look!' She spread her arms and let her head fall back. 'Isn't this fantastic? I think I never felt so good in my life!' She felt Lucius's arms close around her waist from behind her, and rubbed her bum against him – the effect, predictable as it had been, was nevertheless very satisfying.

'Should I fuck you first, up against that venerable oak tree, or should we have our picnic first?' he murmured into her ear.

How was it possible for a simple question – at least as far as its syntax was concerned – to make her wet immediately and trembling with desire? 'Tricky question,' she replied, trying to play it cool. 'Unless there is any way to combine the two? Apart from having lunch up against that oak tree of course.'

He was already unbuttoning the fly of her jeans. 'Such cheek,' he muttered, while his hand stole under the waistband of her knickers. 'Such cheek,' he continued, finding and spreading the wetness between her legs with two fingers, 'in one so young.' He turned her around to face him, and pushed her against the rough trunk of the tree. 'These trousers will have to go' – he slid them down over her legs – 'and so will these knickers.'

She was leaning against the rough bark, wearing only a shirt, with Lucius kneeling before her in the grass. He had shed is robes and was now in shirtsleeves. Feeling deliciously wanton and adventurous – she was about to have sex, with Lucius Malfoy, again!, and out here under the blue sky! – she closed her eyes and prepared herself for the pleasures to come.

'Oh no,' Lucius murmured, before briefly taking a cloth-covered nipple into his mouth and releasing it again, 'not like that, sweet. Open your eyes and look!'

'I,' – Hermione cleared her throat – 'I don't think I can…'

A strong hand lifted her left thigh over his shoulder. 'Oh, but you can. Just' – he kissed her pubic curls – 'try!'

It was one thing, Hermione realized, to do, well… certain things in the almost-dark, in bed, and quite another to be confronted with a grown man's libido out here in plain daylight. It wasn't frightening, or even remotely disconcerting, it merely was a revelation. She still had to grow into her sexuality, whereas he'd had more than enough time to do that, and he'd certainly used that time well. But she wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing, and so she bravely opened her eyes and looked down.

It was a sight she quite liked. She was more aware of her own body now, of the way she was at his mercy, because she was only standing on one leg, propped up against the tree trunk. _That_ realization gave her quite a kick. She saw his fingers pressing into the flesh of her thigh, and the tip of his tongue as it moved slowly towards what she increasingly perceived as her centre. Usually she thought of her brain as the centre of her being, but with him, like this, she wasn't so sure anymore. And then his tongue and fingers began to work their miracle, and she just had to throw her head back, to look up into the softly undulating green canopy. She was floating freely, on a sea of lust and freedom, where nothing and nobody could harm her. Nothing existed except for the two of them, man and woman, Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, where the snake had already accomplished its work of seduction, so they had lost their innocence. But this was better, so much better than innocence.

Hermione opened her eyes again when her other leg touched the ground, but only briefly, because Lucius lifted her up and propped her firmly against the tree. He'd been very gentle last night, but all that had been gentleness and soft contours and candlelit mystery then was now solid, clear and hard. He entered her in one forceful thrust that made her whimper, because her back was being pressed against the coarse bark of the tree. His hands were gripping her buttocks, and he bit into her shoulder. He sucked at the bite and murmured, 'Did I hurt you?'

Not really, she thought and said so. There was pain, yes, but it was her back that hurt, and that somehow accentuated the pleasure of being stretched and filled, and of those hard thrusts driving the sharp ridges of the bark into her skin. She came hard and fast, burying her head in his shoulder, because she thought that if she screamed now, she'd scream the leaves off the tree.

Lucius let her glide to the ground and collapsed next to her, his hand twining into her frizzy hair. There were dark patches of sweat on his shirt, and his chest was rising and falling with the accelerated rhythm of his breathing. 'You are going to be the death of me,' he said between two deep breaths.

Hermione squinted against the sunlight. 'If I remember correctly' she said, moving a little closer so she could put her arm across his chest, 'I wasn't the one who started this.'

'No,' he admitted. 'But these trousers are displaying your arse so very nicely, and you have no idea what the silhouette of your breasts under that linen shirt does to a man. Would you be so kind as to Accio the lemonade?'

'It's time we made a wand for you, or you're going to get used to this,' she said.

'I _am_ used to this, my dear, only I usually give orders to House Elves, not to gorgeous young witches who wear nothing but a shirt.'

She smiled and summoned the flask, catching it between the thumb and index finger of her left hand. When she handed it to him, she didn't look him in the eye. A frown line had formed between her brows.

Lucius drank deeply, handed the flask to her and watched the muscles of her throat move as she, too, drank her fill. 'Hermione, look at me,' he said when she had closed the flask and put it down in the grass.

Hermione shook her head irritably. 'What's the matter?'

'Nothing. Just look at me.' She did, but with obvious reluctance. 'Now give me your hand. Not this one, the other one.'

It was as if somebody had torn the mask of youth off her face, to reveal the traits of an old woman, ravaged with grief. 'I don't want you to see it,' she spat.

'I have seen it already, sweet. Many times. Give me your hand.' He reached for it, but she slapped his fingers in a sudden outburst of fury.

'Leave me be! Leave me alone, I said!' She hit him again, more forcefully. 'I don't want you to look at it, and I don't want your fucking pity!'

When Draco had been a little boy, the only way to bring him out of his temper tantrums had been Lucius's method of holding him in his arms, no matter how much the child bit and spat and screamed, until he went limp and gave in. Lucius decided to try the same with Hermione, although he felt slightly uneasy – the girl was a powerful witch, and her wandless spells were strong. But he succeeded. She yelled at him to let go and tried to hit him with everything she had, but suddenly it was over. He continued to hold her when she started to cry, and stroked her hair. 'Shhh,' he whispered, 'shh, sweet.'

'I hate it,' she blurted out, 'I hate it so much! They keep telling me that I should be proud of it, because it shows what a fucking hero I am, but I hate it so much, I want to cut it off and never see it again…'

'The Venus-of-Milo style,' he said lightly, 'yes that might hold a certain appeal.'

When she looked up at him, out of red, swollen eyes where laughter already blossomed, he felt a pang of something almost like affection. 'You bastard,' she said, and started to giggle, 'You absolute, lousy bastard. It's not funny, and you know it.'

'I know. And if you promise not to get your hopes up to much…' He gave her a calculating look. 'No, definitely too high up.'

She was already up on her knees, grabbing the front of his shirt. 'What? _What_?'

'I really shouldn't tell you.'

'What? Oh please, please tell me! Something about my hand? Is there something you can do?' He smirked and raised an eyebrow. Hermione propelled herself forward and wrestled him to the ground. 'Tell me, fuck you!'

'Now there's a girl who got her priorities straight,' he replied, using an unfair move and his superior weight to get on top of her. 'Yes, there might be a way. Severus got the book this morning and is already studying it. He didn't want to tell you for fear of disappointing you, in case it doesn't work out. But I think you ought to know.'

'Thank you!' she whispered and drew him down into a kiss.

It was the sweetest kiss he'd ever received.

vvv

‚How come I've never heard of this potion?' Hermione asked, speaking more to herself than the two men standing next to her. 'It's fabulous, why didn't-' She turned to address Snape. 'Why didn't you ever teach it in class? You'd have become Hogwarts' most popular teacher in no time!'

'Really? Oh Merlin!' Snape slapped his forehead. 'For twenty years I strived to become Hogwarts' most popular teacher – why, oh why didn't I think of that?'

Lucius turned away, shoulders shaking with mirth.

'Don't you dare make fun of me,' Hermione said, trying to look angry, but she couldn't resist laughing. 'I'm the one who brews this potion, so you better be careful. But honestly, why did you never-'

'Hermione.' Snape took a deep breath and seated himself on one of the kitchen chairs. 'Apart from the fact that my teaching methods must have dissuaded everybody from the misconception that I meant to be a popular teacher, I used to plan my lessons very carefully. As you might remember,' he added sharply, giving her a quelling look.

'I know!' Hermione sat down opposite him. 'I never doubted your planning, I just-'

'If you'd kindly let me finish what I was about to say. By "planning" I also mean that I considered the possible uses and effects of the potions I used to teach very carefully. Now tell me, what does Madam Wickerbill have to say on the subject of beauty?

'Well, she defines it as the perfect balance between the ideal – wait a moment!' She slapped her forehead. 'Of course! The ideal body doesn't have to be what everybody thinks of as their – All right, I rest my case. Although' – 'she giggled – 'I'd give a very large sum of money, if I had any of course, to see your expression… Imagine, all those girls crowding on your doorstep, too thin, too fat… Oh, that would have been such fun!'

Lucius, who had moved to stand behind her, put a hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. 'I think,' he murmured, bending down to whisper in her ear, 'that you might be somehow overestimating Severus's sense of humour. He doesn't seem to find this as amusing as you do.'

'Sorry,' Hermione said, wiping tears from her eyes. Seeing the murderous expression on Snape's face, she stood up and went over to him. 'Sorry, Severus.' Her hand came to rest on his. 'I wasn't making fun of you. It's just that I've had – we've all had – so little reason for laughter these past years. It wasn't… personal, or anything.'

He sighed, and gave her hand a little pat. 'Let us get on with the brewing, shall we?'

vvv

Madam Wickerbill's recipe might not be complex, but it required a great deal of exact cutting, dicing and stirring. Hermione, who had always prided herself on her efficiency and exactitude (although Harry and Ron had found much less flattering terms for these qualities) nevertheless felt immense satisfaction at her former Potions teacher's 'Adequate' when he ladled a small quantity of the brew into a glass, to hold it against the light for a last examination of colour and texture.

Lucius smiled at the little scene playing out before him. 'Why don't you say excellent, Severus, if she deserves it? Hermione is not your student anymore.'

'There's no need for you to remind me of that fact more than once,' Snape retorted sharply.

'It's okay,' Hermione said quietly. She was rinsing the instruments in the kitchen sink. 'If you haven't learned how to translate Snape into English by the end of your first year, you deserve all you get. Adequate,' she explained, grinning at Lucius while carefully wiping the stirring rod, 'actually is the highest praise. So I'm quite happy with it.' She put down the rod. 'Come on, Severus, why don't you drink it?'

Snape was staring out of the window, his mind obviously far away. Hermione frowned at his dark silhouette looming incongruously in the bright sunlight. 'He's nervous,' she stated, and Lucius nodded. He motioned for her to leave the room, and so she did, with Lucius following on her heels.

If Hermione had interpreted Snape's hesitation correctly, she was, however, very far from the truth as far as its reason was concerned.

Still standing by the window, he slowly put down the glass containing the potion, and rested his forehead against the cool surface. He really needed a moment of quietness all to himself.

He'd met Hermione Granger many times at Grimmauld Place, during the almost two years he'd been searching for and destroying the Horcruxes together with Lucius. Unlike most of the other occupants of Potter's house (although, if he were honest with himself, he had to admit that not all the people gathered there had behaved in the same hateful way), Hermione had almost instantly believed the two ex-Death Eaters when they announced their intentions to help the Order.

Yes, she was a Gryffindor, and yes, she'd also been no more than eighteen back then, a slip of a girl who battled evil mostly by ignoring its existence, but he'd always been aware of her innate warmth and love for all things alive. House Elves, giants, reformed Death Eaters, you name it. Whichever wounded creature she found on her doorstep – metaphorically speaking – it could be sure of a kind welcome and of being defended against whoever meant to harm it.

At the time, he'd sneered at her – it had been mere self-protection, because he simply couldn't allow himself any weakness. But here, after months of soul-grinding loneliness, of having to battle against desperation because at times he'd thought his magic was gone forever… Here in this artificial paradise that was probably not going to last more than four weeks… He just couldn't keep it up anymore. He was young, practically in his prime, and they'd put him here together with the only man he could by rights call his friend… Lucius, the insouciant seducer, or so it seemed, Lucius who after all he'd gone through still had the ability to pick whichever ripe fruit on the tree of life was within his reach… And – Severus smiled to himself – who had absolutely no compunctions about giving the tree a good shake, burn it down or cut it to pieces if a fruit he especially craved was out of his reach…

And Lucius had, of course, immediately discovered his soft spot for Granger. Hermione. This young woman who, without even once requesting that they do something for her mutilated hand, had immediately agreed to help them with their problems. And Lucius had hinted that she might be interested… He shook his head. No. She was with Lucius now, and no woman attracted to Lucius, even a bald Lucius, would ever…

He sighed and downed the potion in one go.

vvv

Spell-casting without a wand was quite trying, especially if one did more than a simple Accio, and the restorative spell she had performed on Severus had greatly fatigued Hermione.

Snape had gone to bed early, pleading exhaustion – which, actually, was also partly true – and thus Lucius remained in the living room together with Hermione. He was reading the book Severus had made the House Elf retrieve that morning – an advanced text on restorative magical surgery – and from time to time he looked over at Hermione, who had fallen asleep on the couch.

When the letters started to swim before his eyes and he couldn't focus properly anymore, he put the tome away, got up and went over to the couch.

'Time to go to bed, sleepyhead,' he murmured, and picked her up.

Hermione woke up, blinked and smiled at him. 'Are you dragging me off to your lair to have your wicked ways with me?'

'I don't think – would you mind opening the door for me? – I don't think you're in the right shape for any of my ways, my sweet, wicked or not.'

'Hmm…' She frowned at him. 'What about a quickie? To make me sleep better?'

'There is no such thing as a quickie with you, young lady,' he said, mock-sternly, motioning for her to open the door to her room, 'And besides I refuse to be thought of as some kind of sleeping draught in human form.'

'And if I said please very nicely?'

'I'm not sure.' He deposited her on the bed.

Hermione stretched, noticing from the slight widening of his eyes that he was by no means averse to her suggestion. 'Are you going to let me sleep in my clothes?'

'Take them off, you lazy brat,' he said, belying his own words as he kneeled next to the bed and started unbuttoning her trousers.

'It's better if you do it. You need the practice.' She lifted her hips, so he could take off her jeans.

Lucius's hand sneaked between her thighs and gently stroked her through her knickers. 'I didn't hear you complain earlier today.' His mouth followed suit. 'Mmh,' he said, 'our scents do mix nicely. Get rid of that shirt, will you?'

She did as he'd told her and moved closer to him when he lay down next to her. 'You're still completely dressed,' she pointed out.

'And you're nagging, my dear. Let us see' – he stripped off her knickers and lowered his mouth toward her belly – 'if it is possible to stop you.'

Hermione held her breath as she felt his lips caress her belly – she was ticklish, or used to be, but somehow that didn't seem to matter right now – and tried to control her breathing when his mouth went lower. 'Oh, yes,' she said when his tongue had found the spot where she'd wanted it to go. The tongue slithered over her, playfully dipping into her, then circling her clit and immediately abandoning it to slide back into her, until she thought she might go mad. She was tired, really tired, but her innate sense of duty told her that she ought to do something as well, not just leave all the work to him. But just when she'd gathered enough strength of will to move, he slipped first one, then another finger into her. She might have been able to resist that, but then he started to suck, very slowly and gently, at her clit. Dropping all pretence of taking a more active role, Hermione just sighed and then had to bite her lip, so as not to scream as he brought her to climax.

'You're learning to be discreet, I see,' Lucius said, smiling and gathering her in his arms.

She smiled back at him, already half asleep. 'Sorry,' she muttered, 'I meant to be more… active…'

Lucius chuckled. 'I'm sure I'll be able to think up some way for you to reciprocate,' he said, pulling the duvet over her.

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine all that reciprocating. These thoughts led to some very interesting dreams which still made her blush when she remembered them a few days later.

vvv

The next morning Hermione was woken by strange noises. First she thought there might be an earthquake, but since the ceiling didn't come down, and the walls didn't wobble, she quickly discarded the theory. There was, however, something going on in, or rather with, the house.

All those years spent having adventures with Harry and Ron, and even more so the two years after she left school, had honed her instincts for danger. She trusted those instincts, and as she didn't feel that her life and well-being were under any kind of threat, she decided to ignore the strange goings-on and instead head to the bathroom for her morning ablutions.

She always had her best ideas and most profound insights while cleaning her teeth or taking a shower, and thus she decided to think about Lucius and herself while relaxing under the warm flow of water. Never in her whole life would she have imagined that she might, one day, end up in bed with Lucius Malfoy. But ending up in his bed was now a fait accompli; what she needed to think about was how she felt about it and what she – they? – was going to do with the situation.

The temptation to just go ahead without thinking was strong – after all, their seclusion was only to last four weeks. And who could possibly know what was going to happen afterwards? Even if they in some miraculous way succeeded in putting an end to their internment at Blossomwood, there was no way of telling where they'd end up afterwards. They might be sent to Azkaban, if they were really unlucky. And who would bother to think about relationships with that dire prospect in mind?

But Hermione wasn't the kind of girl to be taken in easily by her own devious mind. Even if she had to spend the rest of her life in prison, she wanted to know exactly where she stood.

So where did she stand with Lucius?

She knew herself well enough to be quite sure she wasn't in love with him. He was being kind and almost caring, he was a lover most women would probably kill to have in their beds, and he'd given her what she needed most at the moment: emotional and physical warmth, and sex. But fulfilling another person's needs – and certainly not out of mere altruism – didn't equal love, and neither did having one's needs fulfilled. If there was something she felt might become a problem, it was that he made her feel safe, quite paradoxically. _That_ might be the catch. Because she'd always been the strong one, in every single relationship she'd ever had (even with her parents, most of the time), and therefore longed to be, not weak, but carefree. Lucius, whom many women would not have hesitated to call a male chauvinist, was certainly the kind of man you could lean into, to forget the world and just be yourself. There, she could sense danger for her well-being. So that was what she had to be most careful about.

Holding her face under the spray, Hermione thought about the proposition, well, it had been more of a suggestion, Lucius had made the other morning. Moral scruples aside, if she divided her need for a pair of arms to hold her tight between two men, might that not be better for her? Divide et impera, as the old saying went. Two men could never have the same emotional hold over her as a single one. And Snape wasn't unattractive; she'd even developed a bit of a soft spot for him during the two years she'd spent at Grimmauld Place. The suggestion might be worth considering, after all.

vvv

The breakfast table was still set for three when Hermione stepped out onto the terrace, but there were used cups and plates, and somebody had made a rather impressive dent in the cake. So the two had already had breakfast.

Hermione snatched a tray, loaded it with a cup, the coffeepot and a plate with two croissants, and went in search of the two wizards. She didn't have to go far. Snape and Lucius were sitting on the veranda on the other side of the house, both in shirt sleeves despite the still-cool morning air, both glaring at Crookshanks with identical expressions of abject helplessness.

'He's evil,' Snape said, sucking at his right index finger.

Lucius, who was nursing a long, and obviously rather deep, scratch on his forearm, nodded. 'I think he's Voldemort reborn,' he muttered.

'In spite of the gross anachronism involved, I do agree. It's only a bit of hair,' Snape addressed the half-Kneazle who was currently resting on the stone balustrade, pretending to be a small harmless kitten who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

'We could try our own hair,' Snape said pensively. 'We're a kind of magical creatures after all. Oh sorry,' he added hastily, 'I wasn't thinking!'

'But you couldn't have thought of a more tactless remark, even if you'd tried,' Lucius bit out, repeating, for the umpteenth time, the now useless gesture of fixing a strand of hair that wasn't there. 'Besides, Boris the Bewildered tried that, and look what good it did him. No, we have to wait for Hermione, I suppose.'

'If you hadn't tired her out completely, she'd be here already!'

'Severus, I'm going to repeat it only one more time: I did not tire her out, she was just exhausted from casting that spell. I tucked her into bed, nothing more. Let the girl get her sleep, for Merlin's sake. She's young, she needs it.' Snape merely shrugged in response. 'And if,' Lucius continued, 'you feel as attracted to her as I guess you do, I suggest that you take some kind of action! Women want to be seduced, as a general rule, and even if they are ready to do some of the seducing themselves, they really dislike having to run after a man. Or are you playing hard to get?'

'Don't be silly. I'm merely – look, Lucius, this discussion is absolutely unnecessary. If the girl has fallen for you, why would she want or need me?'

'Don't be so sure. There's more to the little know-it-all than you obviously think. Will you join me in an experiment?'

'Last time I answered this question with yes,' Snape sighed, 'I left the party with a black tattoo on my left forearm. And look how much fun I had afterwards. What kind of experiment, by the way?'

'Leave that to me, and trust me,' Lucius said with a devious smile.

'People who follow this advice usually have trouble finding all their body parts, a little later. But given that we're probably all going to end up in Azkaban – all right. I'll leave it to you.'

At this point, Hermione retreated noiselessly to the corridor, closed the door without a sound, and then reopened it. 'Hallo?' she called, 'Anybody here?'

'Out here,' came Lucius's reply, and she joined them on the veranda, inwardly praising herself for keeping her countenance so well after all she'd overheard.

Snape cleared a corner of the table, which was strewn with books (the few they had, anyway), parchment and quills – probably also borrowed from Malfoy Manor, she guessed. She deposited her tray and poured herself some coffee. 'Did you hear that noise?' she asked, glad to have thought of a subject that was as far away as possible from the conversation she'd just overheard.

'That? Oh, yes,' Lucius answered.

'Well, what was it? I thought there was an earthquake!'

'It was,' Snape said, eyeing her with a strange half-smile, 'rather a housequake.'

'A… what? Are you making fun of me?'

'Certainly not,' Lucius said, using her momentary inattention to steal a piece of her croissant. 'It was Tipsy, whom I had ordered to create a proper bathroom.'

'A proper… But we already have proper bathrooms!'

Snape snorted. 'That, I'm afraid, seems to be in the eye of the beholder. While I would agree with you, dear Lucius here is used to higher standards.'

'Only the best for a Malfoy,' Lucius agreed without batting an eyelid. 'I hate taking showers, and I absolutely loathe small bathtubs. So I took the liberty' – he sketched a mock-bow in Snape's direction – 'to use that creature in order to get something adequate. House Elves aren't called House Elves for nothing, you know.' He patted Hermione's hand. 'They achieve astonishing results when you give them detailed instructions as to what you have in mind. The tub,' he continued on a slightly malicious tone, 'is very large, a small pool rather than a tub, if I say so myself. You might want to try it, one of these days.'

'I think I might,' Hermione said, smiling at both men in turn.

Snape was suddenly very interested in one of the books. 'Perhaps we could abandon this polite, but essentially useless conversation and progress to more important matters?' he snapped.

'Oh yes, absolutely!' Hermione gathered her hair into a ponytail and fixed it with a ribbon, bending forward to have a look as well. 'Were you talking about wands?'

Lucius cleared his throat. 'Oh, yes,' he replied with a meaningful look at Snape.

'We were talking about this manual' – Snape tapped the book with an impatient finger – 'which is as helpful as it is clear and concise. Besides,' he said, pointing over his shoulder at Crookshanks, 'we tried to harvest some hair from that hellish creature.'

'Not with a lot of success,' Hermione observed cheerfully. 'Or so it seems. Look at you!' She took Snape's hand. 'He didn't bite you, did he?'

'Since you can safely assume that I didn't bite myself, and you can just as safely assume that Lucius didn't, I would advise you not to ask such inane questions.'

'A simple yes would have done the trick. Would you like me to-'

'Kiss it better?' Lucius cut her off. 'If you are so inclined,' – he rolled up his sleeve – 'this dangerous mutilation surely warrants your attention.'

'Oh, shut up,' she said good-naturedly. Her right hand softly stroked the small but deep wound on Snape's finger. His hand was trembling, she noted with satisfaction. 'Sutureo! There, as good as new.' She kept his hand in hers and looked him up and down. 'You look much better,' she stated. 'What about your magic? Has it fully returned?'

For a moment their eyes locked, then he turned his head and disengaged his hand from her grip. 'See for yourself. Sutureo!' Where his finger had traced the scratch on Lucius's arm, there was now white, unblemished skin.

'Wow!' Hermione exclaimed. 'If that's how things are, we'd better get on with our wand-making!'

'I really regret to interrupt this show of unbridled enthusiasm,' Lucius said coolly, 'but doesn't Severus have another potion to brew? The ingredients are there, gathered with my own hands, and his magic is back, as he has so aptly demonstrated.'

'If that means that I am being officially excused from having any further dealings with that disgusting hairball, I shall certainly do so.' Snape cleaned Hermione's cup with a flick of his wrist and poured himself some coffee. He didn't add any milk or sugar, but drank it black, as did Lucius.

'I'm sure it will make Lucius very happy,' she said, merely to tease Snape, because he had stolen her cup, and because the testosterone saturating the air around them was becoming a bit much for her taste. 'In return, I promise that the first wand we make will be yours.'

'I'd rather have the best, not the first,' came the dry answer, 'And do you really think I have any interest in making Lucius happy?'

'No, but you'd like to have the best wand. You just said so yourself.'

This made him smile. 'Spending too much time in the company of Slytherins, are you, Hermione?'

'Can one ever spend too much time in your company?' she retorted, making puppy eyes and batting her eyelids.

Much to her surprise, he briefly touched her cheek before saying, 'You are old enough to know what is good for you. I'll leave you to your bricolage, then. Two hours, Lucius!' And with that, he disappeared into the house.

Hermione looked after him, lost in thought. She jumped when she felt Lucius's hands on her shoulders. 'Are you flirting with Severus?'

'I might be.' She turned to face him. 'That's what you suggested, isn't it?'

'You don't have to follow my suggestion, Hermione. Are you sure that this is what you want?'

'Oh yes,' she replied, thinking of the conclusions drawn earlier, under the shower. 'Is that a problem?'

Some very small part of her wanted him to be jealous, but she was relieved when he said, 'No. Not at all. I still think of it as a good idea, in many senses. First' – he caressed her breasts through her shirt – 'there is the obvious erotic potential. Don't blush – unlike your belligerent familiar, none of us bites. And then, one has to consider the delicate balance of this triangle. We work together so well because we want the exact same thing, and because we are of equal strength. Yes, that includes you,' he said, seeing her doubtful look. 'Your power is considerable, and your influence on both of us beneficial. Therefore, if you are equally close to both of us, that is certainly going to work to our advantage.' He pulled her in for a kiss that left her breathless. 'Or don't you think so, my sweet?'

She'd seen enough of both men to trust them, but that didn't mean she had to give away her innermost thoughts. You never did with Slytherins, as a general rule. 'I'd thought of it primarily as an… adventure.'

'Did you indeed?' His tongue caressed an earlobe, making her shiver. 'You are learning very quickly, Hermione. And now' – he gave her bum a friendly pat – 'let's try our hand at wand-making.'

vvv

Two hours later, they had: Ten twigs from various trees, shrubs and bushes, one royally pissed-off half-Kneazle, dirty fingernails, two tempers to make Crookshanks' thunderous mood seem like cheerfulness of the Dumbledorian variety, and no wands. Not yet, anyway, as Hermione put it. Repeatedly.

'I don't need any more of this utterly useless Gryffindor enthusiasm,' Lucius hissed, when Hermione told him, for what seemed to him the hundredth time and certainly one time too many, that they just had to be patient and it was all going to work out in the end.

'You defeatism isn't much more use than my optimism, by the way,' she added with considerable venom, 'And don't start badmouthing Gryffindors! We saved your sorry arse, don't forget that!'

'What you obviously meant to say,' Lucius retorted, 'was that two Slytherins did all the dangerous background work, so that the glorious Gryffindors could present themselves as heroes to the public at large!' Two red spots were forming on his cheekbones.

Hermione, who didn't know that these red blotches were the beacons of a fury even she would have a hard time facing, continued unperturbed, 'You faced the enemy during one battle, _one_, do you hear me? We had to go out countless times, to fight them, and every time we went out, fewer of us came home! They killed our nearest and dearest to get to us! They tried to weaken us by wrecking our homes, by murdering our parents, we had to stay in that dreadful old place for years, do you hear me? For years! And nobody fucking cared about what we were going through! And after we finally got a bit of public recognition, you dare…' There were tears in her eyes and her voice threatened to break, but she went on. 'You dare say we got that recognition for _nothing_? I lost my parents, I lost my home, I don't have anything, no money, no house, not even a wand…' She dried off her tears with the heel of her hand. 'And you, you of all people, who didn't lose anything except a few galleons and that icicle of a wife, you-' She couldn't say anything else, because her breath was cut off by the iron grip of his right hand around her throat.

'Are you quite finished?' Lucius drew her close, never letting go of her throat. 'I, my dear, sweet girl, have lost everything I ever held dear. And if you tell me now that it was all my own fault' – he gave her a slight shake – 'then I swear-'

'Lucius!' Snape had appeared in the door and stared at the two, not quite wanting to trust his eyes. 'Unhand her, this moment!'

Hermione gave a strangled sound when the grip surrounding her throat finally slackened.

'Go back to your room!' Snape told her, grabbing her upper arm and shoving her in the direction of the door.

'But-' She looked at him, her expression wild, her eyes brimming with tears.

'Go,' he repeated more softly. 'I'll be looking in on you later. Go!'

She obeyed, her reluctance visible in every hesitant step she took. When she was gone, Snape whirled round to confront Lucius. 'Have you gone completely mad? We need her, and she is a young girl, for Merlin's sake, what on earth were you thinking?'

Lucius, who was evidently trying to regain his composure, merely shook his head.

'Lucius, answer me! What the fuck happened?'

Lucius made a sound between a chuckle and a sob. 'If I said she started it, would you believe me?'

'Knowing her, I would of course. But that doesn't cancel the fact that you just physically assaulted-'

He couldn't continue, because Tipsy popped into view. 'The Senior, the, the Senior…' She was shaking with fright.

'What?' Snape roared.

'Boggles… Boggles…' the creature squeaked, hopping up and down, ears flapping.

'Bogglesworth? Is she coming here?' Tipsy nodded. 'Shit!' Snape spat, 'That's exactly what we needed. Tipsy, go find Mistress Hermione, and tell her to go to bed and stay there until somebody comes to her room! Now!'

Tipsy vanished with a loud crack. 'This has to go!' Snape said, gesturing at the table. 'Anything worth saving, except for the books?' He banished the tomes as he spoke. Lucius shook his head. 'All right. Evanesco! And now to the kitchen, quickly!'

When Senior Healer Bogglesworth arrived, full of righteous fury and looking like a battleship under full steam, the two men were sitting in the living room, talking animatedly about Quidditch. Each was nursing a glass of wine.

'Drinking at this early hour?' Bogglesworth inquired acidly. 'No wonder you are hexing each other.'

'I beg your pardon?' Severus was all injured innocence. 'How do you think we might hex each other? Without wands?'

'Don't play dumb,' she said bluntly. 'The wards went off, therefore I know that you did.'

'And of course,' Lucius said amiably after a sip of wine he made a show of appreciating, 'it had to be either him or me. You don't even bother to think the third occupant of this decrepit shack might have something to do with – how did you put it? – the wards going off.'

'Because,' Severus added in honeyed tones, 'unlike us, the young lady is capable of doing a bit of wandless magic, but you knew that, of course.'

'Yes, I did, as a matter of fact,' Bogglesworth retorted, but there was now a trace of insecurity in her demeanour. 'But she certainly wouldn't…'

'I used to teach her at Hogwarts,' Severus said, 'And I know exactly what she and her two little friends were capable of. A troll had entered the castle? Granger went to fight it, in spite of being a first-year. My robes were suddenly and inexplicably on fire? Granger, the first-year, had ignited them. Sirius Black escaped from a room in the highest tower of the castle? Granger had rescued him, flying on a Hippogriff. Would you like me to continue?' It was a rhetorical question, and he didn't wait for Bogglesworth to answer it, but instantly moved in for the kill. 'So doesn't it strike you as strange that the two of us are sitting here, talking and having a small aperitif, and suddenly the wards go off? Wouldn't it be a triumph for little Miss Granger if she got rid of the two big, bad Death Eaters so easily?'

He sighed deeply and leaned back, every inch a defeated man.

The Healer looked from one wizard to the other. 'Where is Miss Granger?'

'I sent her to her room maybe an hour ago,' Lucius replied, his tone one of utter boredom. 'She was, as usual, being an absolute pain in the neck and a thorn in my flesh, and hence I told her to stay in her quarters.'

'Hmm.' There was still a flicker of doubt in Bogglesworth's eyes, but the two men knew they had her. 'Maybe I ought to check on her,' she conceded reluctantly.

'Excellent idea,' Lucius said. 'May we come with you, just to make sure the brat doesn't tell you any lies?'

'I don't think that is necessary.'

'Besides,' Severus said, 'to watch how she gets the dressing down she deserves would be a real pleasure…'

'All right,' she said, suppressing a smile, 'come with me if you must.'

Lucius exchanged a quick glance with Snape before they rose and left the room after Senior Healer Bogglesworth. If Hermione played her part well, they might have escaped. It would have been a close shave, though.

'Miss Granger,' the Healer said brusquely after opening the door to Hermione's room. 'Would you care to tell me what happened?'

The poor girl was looking exactly as she should, Severus thought, although for all the wrong reasons. Her hair was wild, her eyes huge, and her hands clutching Crookshanks to her chest were trembling. But – he vowed to praise her later for her presence of mind – she'd buttoned her shirt up to her chin and let down that frizzy mop of hair, so her throat was completely covered. There had to be marks, he was sure – he knew the strength of Lucius's hands only too well.

A bewildered 'Wha-what?' was all the answer Bogglesworth got.

'I think I expressed myself quite clearly. What happened here to make the wards go off?'

'Which wards? What are you talking about?'

And fortunately, Bogglesworth came to their aid by asking, 'Did you or did you not set off the wards by doing a bit of wandless magic?'

'N-no, not exactly.' The two men stiffened. 'I mean it wasn't anything like voluntary, focussed magic, really. I was just so angry…' She stopped in mid-sentence and shot the two wizards an imploring look, waiting for a cue.

'Miss Granger,' Lucius promptly delivered it, 'I merely sent you to your room. There really was no need to throw a temper tantrum of a magnitude able to alarm the Healer!'

'But it was the fifth time you did that,' Hermione retorted, having cottoned on to the charade. 'I counted! You can't just send me off like a naughty child, who do you think you are!'

'I am your elder, and thus to be respected and obeyed,' Lucius told her and gave her the slightest of nods.

She understood and went on more forcefully, 'Just because you're old doesn't mean-'

But it seemed that Bogglesworth had already heard enough. 'Miss Granger, I will let this incident pass, on condition that you behave as one has the right to expect from a witch your age. You will stay in your room till tomorrow morning, and you will not eat dinner!'

'May I have lunch?' Hermione asked, her voice small.

'Silence!' Bogglesworth glared at her. 'A bit of fasting will do you no harm. No lunch, no dinner, and you stay in your quarters. Tipsy will see to that.' And without another word, she marched out of the room, with the two wizards following close behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

About thirty minutes later, Severus came back with a tray. 'I thought you might want to have lunch here,' he said, setting the tray down on the table and opening the window. 'Perhaps it would be better if the two of you didn't meet for the rest of today.'

'Fine,' she said. 'Just what I expected. _He_ assaults me and _I_ have to stay in the house, while he sits outside and has lunch with you.'

'I can keep you company, if that's what you'd like.'

'All right,' she said crossly. 'But don't expect me to stay in here the whole day. I'll have dinner with you and… and him, if he's returned to his senses by dinnertime, that is.'

'Oh, he has already. As a matter of fact, he said to tell you he was sorry, but you started it.'

'Oh great! As apologies go, this one isn't worth a dog's turd.'

'I agree. But I'm afraid it's the best you'll get.' He watched her as she attacked her salad with gusto. 'Maybe there's such a thing as a Malfoy – English dictionary as well,' he ventured.

'Yeah, and as always I'm the one who has to write it. But ok, tell him I accept his apology. What on earth,' she said brandishing her fork, 'got into him? I mean, yes, we did have a row, but-'

'Well…' Snape examined his fingernails. 'I don't mean to defend him, but I'm sure – he told me, in fact – that only very few people have ever dared to stand up against him like that. He's just not used to it. Besides you seem to have touched a sensitive spot.'

Completely unbidden, a mental image of Lucius's very sensitive spots sprung to her mind. He'd certainly liked it when she touched _those_. 'That still doesn't… All right, yes, I probably talked out of line. And I realized I had really insulted him the moment he grabbed my throat-'

'The obvious moment, I daresay.'

'Uh, yes. Really bad timing on my part.' She dug into her salad again. 'But it's interesting to learn that he has a weak spot.'

'Oh yes, certainly. Absolutely intriguing, especially with a man who so seldom loses his calm. But I'd advise you not to venture any further. It's rather dangerous territory.' He leaned forward to have a closer look at her. 'Any marks? Bruising?'

'A bit, yes.' She touched the sore spots and shuddered. 'Oh god, he was…' And then she started crying.

'I know.' Severus rose and went round the table to kneel by her side. 'You're still in shock. Have your cry-out.' Holding her in his arms was marvellous, in spite of the crying and sobbing, and the wet spot forming on his sleeve. 'Shhh, it's okay. He wouldn't have harmed you for real, you know that, don't you?'

'I think I do.' The sobs became less frequent, and she was now relaxing into him. 'It was just… at that very moment… I don't think I've ever been so frightened.'

'Poor little lioness,' he murmured, his hand gently massaging her scalp, 'Out on a pleasure trip, and suddenly…'

The kiss that followed seemed to both the natural consequence of being so close, of giving and receiving comfort. It was a sweet, emotional kiss, slow and not very deep, but nonetheless very intense.

'Yes,' Hermione muttered, her head finding what seemed its predestined spot on his shoulder. 'Oh yes, I've wanted to do this for quite some time.'

'Don't flatter me,' he whispered back, and through the attempted lightness of his tone she could hear the tremor he was trying to mask.

'Never.' She held him so close that her arms hurt. 'Never. You're much too clever for that – useless to even try it.' She smiled into his neck. 'Would you like to, er, take this further?' With her arms still around him, she could feel the acceleration of his heartbeat.

'What, now?'

'Maybe not right now. I'm all cried out and snotty, and you ought to go and unruffle Lucius's feathers. Speaking of feathers: Did the potion work?'

Severus sighed. 'The question mainly serves to prove that you really don't mean to flatter me. My potions always work.'

'Of course.' She nuzzled his ear. 'It wasn't your potion I doubted but the diagnosis, by the way. So he's happy now, the conceited bastard?'

'Yes, quite happy. That is, he will be until he discovers that I… er, altered the recipe, only very slightly.'

Hermione giggled and bit his earlobe. 'What did you do, you bad, bad Potions Master?'

'Oh, it's almost nothing, merely a trifle. For the next twenty-four hours, he'll have to trim his hair every two hours. If he doesn't want to trip over it, that is.'

She'd had a giggle with Lucius at Snape's expense, and now she was having a laugh with Snape, as they both imagined his blond mane growing and growing. It was… something. Companionship, maybe. And it warmed both their hearts.

vvv

After Snape had left, Hermione felt relaxed enough to have a short afternoon nap (although she would almost have foregone it, since staying in her room meant she was following Bogglesworth's orders). After waking up, she went in search of a brush to give Crookshanks a thorough and long overdue grooming. In the end she had to send Tipsy, for she didn't want to venture too far from her room – she'd decided to have dinner with the two wizards, but felt no desire to encounter Lucius before.

They usually had dinner around eight o'clock, and she settled on being five minutes late. They would both be seated already, and she'd feel more comfortable if she was standing, not sitting and looking up, when she faced Lucius.

Not usually given to vanity, she nevertheless took extra care with her hair and applied a couple of unobtrusive beauty spells – the equivalent of Muggle blusher and lip gloss. Was she doing it for Lucius's or Severus's sake, she asked herself while critically eyeing herself in the mirror. She wasn't quite sure, though. So she decided she was doing it for herself. And probably, men being men, they weren't going to notice anyway.

She gave Crookshanks, who was sprawled on her bed in all his freshly-groomed glory, a brief cuddle and proceeded to face the enemy.

The living room didn't look like a battlefield, though. It looked… She remained standing at the door for a moment, to take in all that unusual splendour. Instead of the placemats embossed with the Blossomwood crest, there was white damask, there were flowers and a bottle of what looked suspiciously like champagne in an ice bucket, and the cutlery and china didn't give the impression of having come from the Blossomwood cupboards, either.

'We thought,' Lucius's mellow voice resounded from behind her, 'that a little celebration was in order.'

She turned and managed to smile at him. 'Are we celebrating the first time you apologized to anybody? Or' – she stared in admiration – 'your hair? It does look fantastic, really!

Snape, who was standing behind Lucius, coughed discretely.

'No need to rub salt into two already festering wounds, my dear,' Lucius replied, taking her hand and kissing it. 'No, there is another reason for celebrating. May I?'

He took her hand and tucked it under his arm, and Snape did the same on her other side. 'Close your eyes,' Severus said, and she did.

They manoeuvred her further into the room and onto a chair, and she could feel the warmth of the candles in her face, and then a brief, weak rush of cooler air, accompanied by a rustle of fabric. 'Et voilà,' Lucius said, 'You may open your eyes.'

There was a longish, narrow box resting on her plate. 'What is it?' she asked, looking questioningly first at Snape, then at Lucius.

'I suggest you open it,' the latter said.

'All right…' Watching Lucius out of the corner of her eye, as he expertly uncorked the bottle, she lifted the box and found it very light. Jewels, maybe? Lucius was probably used to giving jewels to women he'd offended. But he had said 'we' not 'I', so this had to be coming from both men. There was no other way, she had to end the delicious moment of tension and open it.

Hermione felt the blood rush to her face; she could hear it pounding in her ears. 'You… you made me a wand!' she exclaimed, 'Oh that's… that's… Thank you!' Snape was standing nearer to her, so he was to first to be forcefully hugged and kissed. Lucius had the presence of mind to put down the champagne flute he was holding before she pounced on him, too. 'You are wonderful! This is the absolute bestest present I've ever had in my life! How did you do it?'

'Much as it pains me to admit it,' Lucius said, handing her a glass and then one to Severus, 'it was Severus here who had the groundbreaking idea. Your health, my dear. I hope we can be friends again.'

'Yes.' Hermione nodded forcefully. 'And I'm sorry, really-'

'Shh,' Lucius cut her off, brushing a kiss on her forehead. 'Let's not spoil the moment.' He signed to Tipsy to bring the food, and the three sat down. 'And now,' he said, 'since Hermione is obviously bursting with desire to hear how clever you are, Severus, please do tell her about your breakthrough.'

'It, er, was quite easy, really,' Snape began, but was interrupted by Lucius.

'You realize, don't you, that while this show of modesty is very becoming, it insults both my and Hermione's mental and magical abilities?'

'Of course.' Snape emptied his glass and grabbed the bottle for a refill. 'But it was the most elegant way of pointing out that you two are dunderheads, without coming over as patronizing. So, as I was saying' – he cut a bit of goose liver mousse and spread it on a piece of toast – 'you did everything right, except for the bit where you had to slice the twigs open in order to insert that ginger beast's hair.'

Hermione was nodding and listening in breathless concentration, and hence didn't realize that Lucius had refilled her glass. She merely began to feel slightly tipsy, but found the sensation quite enjoyable.

'The problem is,' Snape continued to explain, 'that the wood has to open willingly. You can't use cutting charms, or the wood will be… well, one might say it gets angry and refuses to do any magic.'

'But it wasn't in the book!' Hermione's expression of total frustration mixed with righteous anger made both wizards laugh. 'Don't laugh, it's not funny! If they write a book on wand-making, then it's their duty to-'

'Hermione, listen.' Snape put a hand on her forearm. 'You are muggleborn, and therefore you are obviously making a mistake common to all muggleborns. You think that, merely because we are all human beings living on the same island, our ways of thinking have to be the same. There is no such thing as science in the wizarding world, nor are there the same requirements for exactitude, for quoting all your sources correctly, or for conveying to the reader the totality of your knowledge. We are far less logical than the Muggles, and even the greatest researchers among us proceed more by instinct or gut feeling than by deduction based on hard facts. It's both a strength and a weakness, but what is important is for you to fully understand it.'

'Nobody ever explained that to me at school,' she muttered crossly. 'I mean, they could at least have told us…'

'Can a fish explain water to you?' Snape said, 'It's a trite simile, I know, but it fits.'

'Yes, probably,' Hermione admitted.

'And now,' Lucius said, 'in order to avoid that this whole evening degenerates into some kind of annoyingly academic discussion, I suggest that you try using your wand. Careful though' – he raised a warning hand – 'the core is doxy hair. It might be a trifle, er, capricious.'

Hermione lowered the wand again. 'Doxy hair? Where did you find that?'

'In the attic, of course. A veritable treasure trove, up there. It's an old house, to judge by the heaps of junk we found. I happened upon some dragon scale shavings for my own wand, and Severus found a Hippogriff feather to put into his.' He patted his left sleeve. 'Dragon scales are excellent for transfiguration, although I forgot why. And the doxy hair certainly suits you best, given that you are such an asset at Charms.'

'We could conquer the world now, between the three of us,' she said pensively.

Lucius smiled and shook his head. 'May I suggest that we start by conquering the duck à l'orange first? Especially as there are a few bottles of Bordeaux from Uncle Brutus's French vineyards?'

It was one of the happiest times Hermione had had in a long time. She went to bed alone that night, because she'd eaten so much she thought she would burst and therefore sex was out of the question, but she got a good-night kiss (not of the platonic kind) from each of them, two kisses which held a promise of pleasures to come.

vvv

It took Lucius and Snape three full days to restore Hermione's left hand to its former, unblemished state, and had they been less powerful and determined wizards, they might not have succeeded at all. There was alchemy involved, they had to perform some extremely iffy bits of blood magic after taking blood and tissue samples from her, and Severus had to concoct a kind of amniotic fluid that made him swear fluently in five languages, for a full hour, without once repeating himself.

Hermione had little contact with them during those days, because they'd told her that she would only distract them – not quite sure whether to take this as a compliment, she decided to give them the benefit of doubt and feel flattered.

But she wasn't bored, not even when on the second day it started to rain, because Tipsy, who was now being sent on regular expeditions to Malfoy Manor, had been ordered to bring Hermione whichever book from Lucius's library she might fancy.

There was no sex, either, and although she knew that Lucius – and maybe Severus as well, at least she hoped so – resigned himself to celibacy for her sake, so as to keep up his strength and concentration, she didn't really like it. Not that she resented it, on the contrary, she was eternally grateful to both of them for what they were doing for her, but she missed the pillow talk, and the sensation of his skin on hers, and most of all she longed for that feeling of freedom and being herself, brought about by a choice she was sure nobody would approve of, even if she told them that it made her feel better than she had in years.

Unfortunately, her own hands weren't able to bring her to heights even remotely close to what Lucius achieved by brushing her earlobe with his lips.

And so she was impatiently awaiting the moment when the two wizards would have finished their endeavour, and as the hours went by, she began to think that she was less impatient for her hand to be whole and undamaged again, and more for the company of the two men she didn't hesitate anymore to think of as her friends.

In the afternoon of the third day after the successful production of three wands, Severus and Lucius came to find her curled up in front of the living room fireplace, studying a book on charms and occasionally practising a move with her new wand.

'I think,' Severus announced – and she didn't have to look at him to know how very tired and worn-out he was – 'that we've finally got it. The, er, prosthesis is ready, and we've practised our mending charms to perfection. The book says they're a lot more effective if cast by more than one person, so we'll both be doing the honours.'

A small room at the back end of the house had been transformed into a laboratory – brewing a hair growth potion in the kitchen was fine, but work such as this required a secluded space – and they led her along the corridor, Snape taking the lead, Hermione behind him and Lucius bringing up the rear. Like a kind of procession, she thought, at least as far as solemnity was concerned.

Hermione had seen death in many forms throughout the war, and she'd had to look at body parts and dismembered bodies quite a few times, but somehow the sight of the not-quite-but-somehow-her hand made her recoil in horror, more than anything she'd seen on the battlefield. Like a three-dimensional piece from a nightmare jigsaw, the thing that was to become part of her body was suspended in a slightly viscous-looking fluid. She shivered, and Snape put his arm around her shoulders.

'This is it,' he said, 'Hermione – hand, hand – Hermione. But I'm afraid that, in order to get you two together, we have to reopen the wound.'

'We have of course looked up anaesthetic charms,' Lucius said in what she supposed he meant to be a reassuring bedside manner.

'I certainly hope so,' she replied faintly. 'What about hygiene? This is going to be a rather large cut, and I don't want it infected.'

'All taken care of. There is such a thing as antimicrobial charms, you know?'

'Oh well,' she sighed, 'Since you seem to have covered any possible misgivings I might have, go on, do your worst.'

'There is one caveat, though' Snape said seriously. 'This procedure works only if the patient truly desires it. If you have any doubts…'

Hermione shook her head. 'No. I've been thinking about it, believe me. But I know what I've gone through, and you know it, and the handful of people I care about know it. I don't need to prove that I was there by waving a mutilated hand into everybody's face. No. I'm absolutely sure I want this. And I hope you two know that I'll be indebted to you forever.'

'Emotional poppycock,' Lucius muttered, but his heart didn't seem to be in it.

vvv

They celebrated again that evening – Hermione wondered how long Uncle Brutus's stocks were going to last, if they continued to pillage them at this rate. When she mentioned her worries to Lucius, he merely laughed, though.

Tipsy had whipped up a five-course meal that consisted of very light dishes, and the portions were just enough to enjoy but small enough to make one wish there was more. Every course was accompanied by a different wine – in the beginning, Lucius tried to explain their bouquets and bodies and vintages, but had to give up when she tried to pronounce the name Gewürztraminer and failed five times, because she'd just crossed the border between tipsy and drunk. She insisted that it sounded like Mountain Troll language and almost fell off her chair, because the way Lucius pursed his lips when pronouncing the 'ü' made her laugh so hard.

Having finished dessert and cheese they adjourned to the sofa in front of the fireplace – after raising an eyebrow at Severus and receiving a brief answering nod, Lucius had modified its dimensions and build, so that the three of them were seated snugly but comfortably. Hermione was ensconced between the two men and tried – rather unsuccessfully – to look fondly at them both at the same time.

'Brandy?' Lucius asked, already summoning the bottle and three large snifters.

'I've never had brandy,' Hermione declared. She felt Severus's hand gently caressing her left breast with his thumb and thought she might melt right there and then.

'This is a statement no witch aged twenty ought to be able to make under Veritaserum,' Lucius said. 'What a scandalous lack in your upbringing! It has to be remedied immediately.' He poured her a moderate amount. 'You have to warm it in your palm first,' he explained, catching her wrist and thus preventing her from downing the whole content of the glass in one go, 'and then drink it sip by sip.'

'That's funny,' Hermione said and giggled. 'I wasn't aware that there were rules for drinking as well.'

'And doesn't that warm your little heart that is so greedy for rules,' Severus commented, leaning in for a kiss.

It was a very long kiss, and somewhere in the middle of it she felt Lucius's hand sneak between her thighs, caressing her gently. Her lips still open after Severus had drawn back, she drank a sip of the now lukewarm brandy. 'This is… wow! This is good!'

'You are talking of the brandy, I presume?' Lucius inquired. His hand was still where it had been before.

'I'm talking about' – she made a sweeping gesture – 'about all this. I'm so very happy today, and…' She sighed deeply. 'I love you both. I really do, and I want you to know it.'

Severus started unbuttoning her shirt. 'That is a very nice thing to say, Hermione, but even a little lioness with a heart as warm and loving as yours cannot love the two of us.'

'Bollocks.' Hermione observed his hand as it caressed her breast in gentle circles, drawing nearer and nearer to its centre. 'That's just bollocks. Of course I can love both of you, you silly man.'

Now it was Lucius's turn to kiss her, and he did so very thoroughly. 'But,' he said afterwards, stroking her lower lip with his thumb, 'we are so very different – surely you can't love us both equally.'

Had she been sober, Hermione would probably have told the two wizards to stop talking nonsense and get on with the sex. But she was inebriated, and – as Harry and Ron could have told the two men from painful experience – a drunk Hermione was a very talkative Hermione, who could go on and on about a subject and wouldn't stop until she finally fell asleep in mid-sentence.

'You two,' Hermione launched into her diatribe, 'are being very silly indeed. You're very different in many ways – I mean, just look at you, all ivory and ebony – unfortunately there's too much darkness in both of you, otherwise the day-and-night cliché would fit perfectly. Then again,' she continued, taking a pensive sip of brandy and totally unaware of her audience's consternation, 'you aren't as different as one might think by just looking at you. Of course there's the totally different background, one pureblood, the other halfblood, one rich, the other poor… But' – she raised a didactic index finger – 'those differences are, in reality, as superficial as having blond or black hair. They don't really count. What counts is the character, and I guess you're not so very different when it comes to character. You're both very clever, to begin with' – in order to start counting the points off her fingers, she had to give her glass to an extremely bewildered Lucius –'That's not character, I know, it's rather like being blond or black-haired. But you're clever. Second similarity: you're both so very ambitious – for Lucius it's all about power and money and politics, and for Severus it's about being the world's best Potions Master, of course. But it's all based on ambition. You're proud, both of you. You like plotting and intrigue. Now I'm not sure whether you joined Voldemort because of your ambition or because you just loved the idea of one big, bad conspiracy, where you could plan and plot and be really bad guys. But there's more: you both despise anything second-class. Dunderheads, small bathtubs, Mudbloods, you name it. You want the best because you always give your best. I suppose you threw your Orders of Merlin Third Class right into the dustbin, right? For you, it's either first class or nothing. Very much like Julius Caesar,' she said, nodding forcefully, 'who'd have preferred to be mayor of some godforsaken village in the mountains to being anybody's second man in Rome. Many people think that's stupid, but I certainly don't. And then, there is the most important thing: You both risked everything you had, even your lives, for bringing down that monster. And now tell me: isn't that enough reason for me to love you both?'

No answer came – mostly because both Lucius and Severus were looking slightly dazed, as if hit by a Somniferus hex. Hermione helped herself to more brandy and conscientiously warmed the tumbler between her palms, just as Lucius had told her.

Snape was the first to come out of his stupor. 'Well,' he said, 'that was quite, er enlightening.'

'Although I'm not sure I really wanted to hear that much about myself,' Lucius said.

Severus nodded. 'Leo dormiens numquam titillandus. Hogwarts has obviously got its motto a bit wrong.'

'I couldn't agree more.' Lucius turned to the subject of their exchange, whose head was resting on Severus's shoulder. Her grip had gone slack, and thus a thin trickle of brandy was slowly soaking into her jeans. 'Nothing ever goes the way it should with this shrewish little Gryffindor.' He gently tucked a springy strand of hair behind her ear. 'But one can't help feeling…' He paused, searching for an appropriate expression.

'Yes, I care for her too,' Severus said quietly, 'a lot.'

This time, they both carried her back to her room. Watched intently by Crookshanks, they took off her jeans and shirt, and tucked her into bed. The half-Kneazle hopped up on the duvet, wandered the length of Hermione and, having arrived on her chest, turned a few times until he'd finally found the ideal spot to lie down. He yawned, stretched and glared at the two men.

'All right,' Lucius said, 'we're leaving already, and we know she belongs to you.'

'But,' Severus pointed out as they left the room, 'that doesn't mean we can't borrow her to play with, some time or other.'

vvv

All three occupants of the house woke late the next morning – Hermione because she'd drunk far more than she was used to, and the two men because they, after tucking her in, had decided that the contents of the brandy bottle were the best remedy for sexual frustration and unexplainable feelings for a drunk little Gryffindor.

Hermione was up first, feeling less hung over than she'd expected. A look at the empty bottle in the living room told her all she needed to know about Lucius and Severus's nightly activities, and so she decided to surprise them with a picnic brunch. She'd just put the last container into the basket and was about to cast a shrinking charm, when she heard them approach from the corridor.

'But the sun is shining out there,' Lucius complained when she told them about her picnic idea. He was looking slightly the worse for wear although impeccably groomed as always, and seemed to have developed an allergy to light.

'Don't whine,' she said, 'it doesn't suit you.'

'He's right though,' Severus said. 'I don't think I could bear sunlight right now.'

With an impatient sigh, Hermione conjured two pairs of sunglasses and handed them to the two invalids. 'There you go. Now' – she turned to the cabinet where a large coffeepot was waiting – 'Have some black coffee and a glass of water, and we may go. We've got things to discuss, you know?'

Two audible sighs greeted that announcement, but Lucius and Severus obediently drained their coffee cups and glasses, and then trudged out and into the garden behind their – as they perceived it – obscenely cheerful companion.

The food and drink and the cool morning breeze took effect a little later, though, and soon Hermione didn't feel anymore as if she was having a necromantic session with two Inferi. Tipsy had made a fruit cake that looked extremely appetizing, and while Hermione cut three slices, she asked, 'So, have you recovered enough for a bit of plotting?'

'Oh, sweet, sweet Circe,' Lucius moaned, 'what on earth did we do to deserve this?'

Severus plucked off a bit of his cake, held it close to his nose for inspection, and ventured, 'From my observation of the terrible trio, back at Hogwarts, I daresay this is Hermione's way of dealing with her loved ones.'

'The problem is,' Lucius said, 'that her way of dealing with those she dislikes is even worse. So I think I might settle for being bossed around.' He bent over to kiss her. 'But maybe' – he knocked her right elbow from under her and cushioned her head with his arm when she fell back with a squeak – 'one might endeavour to indulge in other activities where that innate bossiness would be less obvious?'

Snape set his plate aside and watched with interest as Hermione wrapped herself around Lucius. 'Good thinking,' he observed, but couldn't say any more because Hermione's arm sneaked out to pull him down to her. He felt her fingers fumble with the buttons of his shirt while they kissed, and then the play of tongue against tongue became even more intense, because her hand suddenly went down to his fly. She had trouble opening it, but her insistent movements were enough to make him see stars. After six years without sex, he was likely to come in his trousers – and wouldn't that be something for Lucius to gloat at? He'd never hear the end of it.

So Severus beat a strategic retreat by putting some distance between his crotch and the insistent hand, in order to regroup and try to think of something that wouldn't stimulate an immediate ejaculation. But he made the mistake of ending the kiss as well, thus finding himself confronted with the highly erotic image of a half-naked Hermione who was obviously enjoying what Lucius's tongue, teeth and lips were doing to her breasts. 'Oh Merlin,' he muttered weakly.

Lucius paused briefly and grinned at him across a lovely plump tit crowned by an erect, rosy nipple. His eyes slid down to Severus's crotch, and his grin became decidedly more wicked. 'Getting into the spirit of things, I see.' He made an inviting gesture at Hermione's prone body. 'Perhaps you'd like to continue undressing the young lady?'

'That,' Severus bit out, 'would include bending forward, and I don't think that's possible right now.'

'Only to be expected, after six years without sex.'

Hermione's eyes flew open. 'Six years? That's awful! How did you survive?'

'By wanking, mostly,' came the dry answer.

She blushed scarlet and giggled. 'Information overload, I think. But why are you being so… reluctant now?'

'Because, my very dear and sweet girl, I suspect I would hardly last more than two seconds. And don't you dare' – he stabbed Lucius with his finger – 'don't you dare utter a single of your sarcastic comments.'

'I had no intention to be sarcastic.' Lucius started unbuttoning his shirt and gave his friend a look of innocence wounded. 'I merely meant to point out how fortunate it is, in a situation like this, that there are two of us.'

He leaned over Hermione again, and the sight of his blond hair cascading over her breasts was so intensely erotic that Severus finally let go of the last scruples he'd been holding, and started undressing in earnest. All the blood in his body shot to his groin – or at least that was how it felt – when his eyes were drawn to Lucius's hand spreading her legs, to open her labia, exposing wet pink flesh. He stared, mesmerized, as two long white fingers delved into her and moved in and out rhythmically while the thumb circled her clit. More than by the sight, however, he was turned on by her moans and pleas. He thought his cock was going to explode.

'I think you'll find her quite ready,' Lucius said when Severus was lying down next to Hermione, on her other side.

'And willing,' she added in a tone of voice he'd never heard before. Smoky, husky and devoid of any bossiness.

Since Lucius was attending to the rest of her body with a thoroughness Severus had never before seen him display in anything he did (but then this was the first time he'd ever watched his blond friend having sex), Severus allowed himself to abandon any gentlemanly reservations and simply thrust into her.

vvv

When Hermione still went to Muggle school, her teacher had been very proud when she had given the correct answer to the question 'If it takes one man one hour to dig a hole, how long does it take two men?' But a rule that generally held true for construction work did not apply to sex, she thought, difficult as it was to think clearly. It took two men twice as long to finish the work, only the result was not doubly, but exponentially better.

She was lying on her side, one leg thrown across Severus's hip, with his cock buried deep inside her, while Lucius supported her body from behind, rubbing his cock against her arse and doing incredible things with his hands. They seemed to be all over her, always knowing exactly where she wanted them most, as if they had a mind of their own. It was quite simply marvellous, and although Severus really wasn't able to hold back for longer than maybe two minutes – but who would be able to calculate the exact duration, since time seemed to have been suspended – she did have an orgasm and then another one when Severus, feeling guilty about his stellar but brief performance, went to work with his tongue.

And then Severus reclined against the tree trunk – the same tree that had also been witness to her open-air tryst with Lucius – and she sat leaning with her back against him, giving the first blow job of her life to Lucius, who was kneeling in front of her, his platinum hair unbound and backlit by the sun. He looked like an archangel painted by Rembrandt or Rubens – muscular, vividly beautiful and wholly of this world.

He pulled out of her mouth seconds before coming. Severus ducked in time, and thus the oak tree was fecundated by Malfoy sperm. 'What a lucky coincidence,' Lucius panted, 'that there are no more Dryads in England. Imagine the trouble I'd have getting rid of her!'

Both Severus and Hermione muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'conceited bastard'.

vvv

They had a brief nap afterwards, and then decided to give sex another go because, as Lucius correctly observed, they hadn't yet quite got the hang of moving together, and afterwards they polished off what remained of the contents of the picnic basket. Since it was early afternoon by then, Severus pointed out that nobody would be able to find a reasonable objection to their having a bottle of champagne. Lucius seconded that move, which was also applauded by Hermione who most sensibly explained that the detrimental effects of having had too much alcohol the day before might be alleviated by having a bit of champagne the day after. So they had one bottle, which was universally acclaimed to contain too little champagne for three adults, and thus Tipsy was sent for another one.

When the sun was already low, Lucius raised his hand to proclaim that a bath might not be such a bad idea after all. They were all sweaty and covered in assorted bodily fluids, and no self-respecting wizard – or witch, of course, Hermione – would dream of sitting down to dinner in such a state.

With half-buttoned shirts and rumpled trousers, the procession of three moved to the house and into the newly created bathroom. The tub really wasn't a tub, but more of a small pool, and the whole room was resplendent with white marble, chrome and glass. Hermione thought that it looked absolutely fantastic, and said so.

'Yes, doesn't it rather,' Lucius said while stripping off his clothes. 'That benighted elf had the cheek to suggest gilded taps, but that kind of style really is passé. Very tacky. Not to mention nouveau-riche.'

They had a first round of bathing for merely hygienic reasons, scrubbing each other's backs and mutually shampooing their hair, and then Tipsy was called to clean up the whole watery mess and refill the tub.

'Aaah, yes,' Severus sighed. He grabbed his wand and cast a thermostasis charm. 'Is the temperature all right?'

'Perfect,' the other two replied in unison.

There was a ledge running along the walls of the pool, where one could sit comfortably. Already used to being the one in the middle, Hermione sat down in the corner with Lucius and Severus flanking her. For a few minutes there was silence, only occasionally interrupted by a sigh of pure, sybaritic pleasure.

'Maybe this is what they wanted all the time?' Hermione said to nobody in particular.

'This, my sweet, is what everybody wants all the time, but only very few get it,' Lucius said, turning his head to look at her.

'That's not what I meant. What I wanted to say was, did Bogglesworth mean to achieve this result? The three of us here, together, so sated that we wouldn't even think of getting out? Like Ulysses' brothers-in-arms, you know, when Circe turned them all into swine and they were happy just being fed and occasionally scratched?'

'The Odyssey doesn't have anything to say about scratching,' Severus said. 'But, more to the point, I think you're being paranoid. What they want is for us to drive each other insane, nothing else.'

'But the result would be the same,' she pointed out. 'Whether we're living happily together or driving each other insane: in the end we'd be too sated, or too worn out as the case may be, to resist them any further.'

'Well…' Lucius crossed his legs, creating a small tsunami in the process. 'Seeing as plotting somehow moved to the bottom of our list of priorities this morning, why don't we get started now? Happy though we all are with this arrangement, we know that, for one, it is merely a temporary one, and we also know that if we want to, we may easily continue it somewhere else. So we are still interested in getting out of this mental institution, aren't we?'

'We are,' Severus agreed, 'But we are certainly not interested in a change for the worse. Whatever we plan, Azkaban or St. Mungo's Home for the Terminally Debilitated is not an option. In my opinion, the main difficulty we have to face is the deplorable fact that they got us to agree to this internment by blackmail. Therefore, we have to find a way of taking the poisoned end off that particular arrow before it hits home.'

'Or to deflect its course,' Lucius said pensively, 'so that it hits somebody else, preferably Scrimgeour.'

'Blackmail the blackmailers, you mean?' Hermione asked, fascinated.

'Something like that, yes. But if we want to do that, and do it successfully, we have to ask ourselves one important question: do we have enough leverage to become blackmailers?'

'We have our memories,' Hermione ventured.

'Yes, we do,' Severus agreed. 'But as you now know, even pensieved memories can be manipulated. Not that the Ministry wants anybody to know that, but I'm sure they wouldn't hesitate for a second to publicize that information, in order to discredit us. And then the whole beautiful plan would backfire.'

'So what we need,' Hermione continued his train of thought, 'would be one person who's interested in getting back at Scrimgeour, and one whose integrity is above any doubt, and who could serve as witness. Or, of course, one single person meeting both criteria, although that might be a bit difficult.'

Both men looked at her appraisingly.

'Indeed,' Lucius said after a while, 'But while there won't be any difficulty finding somebody who loathes Scrimgeour, I'm afraid we're a bit short on wizards – or witches, yes, Hermione – whose integrity is above any doubt, and who are not currently guests of Blossomwood.'

'McGonagall,' Hermione said. 'Not even Scrimgeour would dare to try one of his smear campaigns against her. She's _the_ war hero, and her clan was powerful enough to protect her from being sent to Blossomwood. She fits both requirements. But I'm not sure if she'd agree.'

'Oh, she would, no doubt about that,' Severus said. 'She was furious about the way Scrimgeour handled the whole aftermath of the war. Before I was coerced to come here, somebody – I don't remember who, though – told me that she'd paid him a visit and threatened to commit herself to the Edinburgh Asylum, because if Hermione Granger was mad, so surely was she.'

'She said that?' Hermione blushed with pride.

'So I was told. I'm sure she would do anything in her power to help.'

'Which leaves,' Lucius observed, 'finding the right person to lead a political campaign against Scrimgeour. Because, even if McGonagall is willing to help us, she certainly isn't charismatic enough to do that.'

'Political?' Hermione looked at him as if he'd suddenly sprouted a second head. 'Political? No, that won't work. The political consciousness of the average British wizard or witch equals that of a carrot. No, it has to be a media campaign, with juicy details and lots of pictures and horrific details.'

'Sounds like Skeeter to me,' Severus said.

Hermione nodded. 'Yes, I'd thought of her as well. But what about her and Scrimgeour? She doesn't like us, so she as to really, really hate the Minister.'

'Big miscalculation, my dear,' Lucius said. 'The only motive that counts for Skeeter is whether she'll have more fun not taking what we are going to offer her and thus thwarting our plans, or defenestrating the Minister. But' – he flattened an already perfectly sculptured eyebrow with a wet finger, 'we do have a certain advantage, and she's bound to realize that: Ministers of Magic aren't Ministers of Magic forever. Rufus is over hundred and not exactly popular – he's trodden on to many toes, and none too gracefully. Good old Rita is only slightly older than I am, so there's a perfectly reasonable chance that she'll live to see the time when Scrimgeour's successor may decide that we don't belong in a loony bin after all, and set us free. And she knows exactly what would happen then.'

He was being every inch the cool political strategist now, and Hermione found that very sexy. She didn't say so though, but instead suggested, 'What about roping in Luna?' When both men gave her an uncomprehending look, she explained, 'Lovegood. Luna Lovegood. She's been the sole owner and chief editor of the Quibbler since her father's death. Not that the Quibbler is a quality newspaper, but it has improved.'

'Besides,' Severus said, 'it's the only newspaper people enjoy reading these days, since the Prophet has turned into a Ministry news bulletin.'

Lucius's smile turned from meditative to shark-like, which was somewhat frightening since he was actually in the water. 'You know,' he muttered, 'this idea might actually be the cherry of genius on an already brilliant cake. Yes, I know it was yours, Hermione, and I am aware that this fact in and of itself makes any idea a good idea. But' – he slapped the surface of the water, spraying them all – 'by Merlin, there's more to it. If we promise Skeeter an exclusive, and at the same time alert Lovegood that she might be able to get an interesting story…' Now he was grinning. 'Then, if the Prophet refuses to print it – and I somehow expect they will – Lovegood may approach Skeeter and offer her the forum she wants. And just imagine what she's going to write on the subject of the Prophet, and Scrimgeour, by extension. This time, he might not come out of the dung hole smelling of roses, the lousy bastard.'

The three savoured this promising prospective for a while in silence, which Severus interrupted by saying, in a very cautious tone of voice, 'We need Draco.'

Hermione had never seen a man's face and demeanour change so quickly from relaxed to icy cold. 'Leave Draco out of this!' Lucius hissed.

Severus seemed less taken aback than Hermione, but then she guessed he'd seen Lucius go from amiable to furious quite often. It reminded her uncomfortably of the scene a few days ago, though, and so she carefully scooted away from him by a few inches.

'Try to be reasonable, Lucius. Draco is in France, there's no way Scrimgeour can get to him. He has all the money, and I assume he's longing to return to England. Helping us really is in his best interest – we have to ensure that he's actively on our side.'

'I refuse to involve Draco,' Lucius spat, and this time Hermione recognized the two red blotches for what they were.

Severus had warned her about venturing further into that dangerous territory, but she hadn't survived the war because she'd always followed the rules. Quite the contrary, actually. And if Lucius freaked out again, Severus would surely come to her help. So giving it a try couldn't harm, could it? 'You're just afraid that he might turn you down,' she said into the tense silence.

She'd expected Lucius to turn on her in blind fury, and so had Severus, evidently, because his fingers already touched his wand. But Lucius merely hoisted himself out of the pool, wrapped a towel around his dripping body and left the bathroom.


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Hermione spent the night in Severus's bed.

When there had been three of them, she hadn't really noticed the difference between Lucius the lover and Severus the lover. Now, however, when they were alone together, she realized that the two were, indeed, greatly different.

Where Lucius was all aloofness and accomplished technique, Severus was honest and needy. Not that he would ever think of expressing it verbally, but he didn't seem to have any difficulties doing so with his body. There was a nakedness to their lovemaking, an uncompromising need to let the other see what they felt, that lent it an intensity Hermione found quite overwhelming. Maybe, she thought when he had already fallen asleep with a crooked smile on his face, maybe she preferred Lucius's body. She'd always preferred muscular to sinewy. And his body was perfection, pure and simple. But the imperfections of Severus's body were somewhat endearing; his big nose, his jutting hipbones, the scars mapping his skin… He bore the traces of a difficult life, and that was what Lucius decidedly lacked. They complimented each other, she thought. Together, they were perfection.

vvv

Perhaps, Hermione mused as she stood before Lucius's door, her hand already on the handle, perhaps sneaking up on a sleeping ex-Death Eater wasn't such a good idea after all. So she pulled her wand from her sleeve, just to be ready to counter any hexes he might fire at her.

But he was fast asleep – naked, of course, as he'd told her he always slept – and didn't wake up even when she crept into his bed. She'd had the foresight to cast an immobilizing charm on the mattress, however, so it didn't dip when her weight came to rest upon it.

A whispered charm fixed his hands where they currently were – he was sleeping on his back, fortunately – and then she levitated the duvet off his prone body with yet another charm. There he was lying, sprawled and still sleeping, one arm resting at his side and the other thrown back over his head, with his hair in a loose plait that already showed signs of disintegration.

Hermione allowed herself a few moments to take in this sight, and then positioned herself on her knees, astride his legs, and gently kissed the tip of his still flaccid cock. Lucius gave a soft moan and tried to turn, but couldn't, since his hands were securely bound by her charm. She smiled and teased his pubic hair with her fingertips, while her other hand – and how glad she was that they had restored it, you really could do more interesting things with five fingers than two – cupped his balls, stroking and gently kneading them.

Finally, he woke up and, after a first moment of disoriented panic, let his head fall back on the pillow. 'What do you think you are doing here?'

He still sounded angry, but she decided to ignore that. 'Hmm,' she said, 'Let me think.' His cock was already showing signs of more than passing interest, and she fully took it in her mouth, to give it one slow suck and then let go again. 'I'm making the bed?' She circled the tip with her tongue. 'No, that's not quite it… Hmm… Doing arithmantic calculations, maybe?' He was almost fully erect now, and she licked along the length of his penis. 'No, doesn't sound right… What am I doing here?' She started massaging his balls a bit more forcefully, drawing a moan from him. 'I think I'm trying to give you a blow job.' With these words, she closed her lips around the tip of his cock and slowly slid down.

Last afternoon and night, she'd leaned quite a lot about cocks and how to treat them, and so she was now doing a sterling job of reducing Lucius to a moaning puddle of pleasure. She'd insisted on Severus coming in her mouth last night, and found that it wasn't disgusting at all – maybe her fondness for only very slightly boiled eggs did help there – and so she resisted his attempts to draw back from her mouth and mercilessly pushed him over the edge, and continued to suck and tease until he begged her to stop.

Maybe some of his anger had left him together with his semen, she thought, because when she finally freed his arms, he didn't push her away, but instead let her cuddle close and even started caressing her bum.

'You have quite a way of insinuating yourself into a man's good graces after practically slapping his face last night,' he observed.

'I didn't mean to slap your face, and you know it. It's just that I can't resist telling people the truth – it has a way of driving them angry, I know. Do you miss him?'

His caresses had already bunched up her nightdress somewhere above her waist, and he continued stroking her back, arse and thighs while he said, 'He's my only child and heir, Hermione. I used to be with him for a minimum of three hours a day, during the first eleven years of his life, no matter how busy I was. I taught him to fly, I taught him his first spells. I missed him terribly when he went off to Hogwarts, but at least I knew he'd come back for all the holidays. He was what made a lukewarm marriage of convenience worth all the compromises and the bickering and absolutely meaningless conversation, because the one thing that held Narcissa and me together was our shared devotion to Draco. Everybody knew that, and unfortunately Voldemort knew it as well. I can assure you that the Dementors didn't drive me half as mad, back in Azkaban, as did the thought of my son having to kill Dumbledore or die. I would have done anything…' He fell silent for a while, his breathing and heartbeat slowly going back normal. 'Only I couldn't do anything. I had to sit and wait until they finally let me go, which cost me an amount of money that still provokes slight nausea whenever I think about it. So,' – he pulled Hermione closer, so that her upper body was now resting on his chest – 'I had to bring down that monster, whatever the cost. I simply couldn't risk that he use Draco to blackmail me again.'

The steady movement of his hands was considerably arousing her, but this was a time for talking, not for sex. 'But he knows all that, doesn't he?'

'I suppose he does. But imagine what he had to go through during his sixth year. Of course he was convinced that it was all my fault, and unfortunately he was right. I assure you that he didn't welcome me with open arms when I finally managed to find him and Severus.' He sighed. 'Had we had more time, maybe I would have been able to explain it all, but there wasn't any time to be lost. I had to literally drag him to Gringott's, and lock him away in a vault for almost two years. It was a luxury vault, but…' He made a helpless gesture.

'Didn't you meet after it was all over? I mean, there was time, at least a little.'

'Too risky. I had to whisk him away to France, after I'd officially transferred all my fortune to him, down to the last Knut.'

'He's staying with Uncle Brutus, isn't he?'

'As a matter of fact, he is. We exchanged a few letters before… Well, before I was sent here.'

'And his letters? How were they?'

'Distant. Cool, even chilly, I'd say. Not exactly apt to inspire any hope of reconciliation.'

One finger was wandering up and down between the cheeks of her arse, and she had trouble concentrating. 'I really don't like Draco very much, but even so I'd never describe him as stupid. He's had time to think things through. He has a whole lot of childhood memories to draw upon. Don't you think he'll have changed his mind by now?'

'That's what I'm hoping for, my sweet.' His finger abandoned her bum, to draw a ticklish line round her thigh and proceed to the spot where the blood was pulsing between her legs. 'But, as you so shrewdly observed, I am… afraid that he might not have.'

'You'll give it a try, though, won't you?'

Lucius flipped them over, so he was now on top of her. 'I will,' he muttered into her hair, 'of course make the attempt.' He slid into her and began to move slowly, with shallow thrusts that made her claw at his back and beg him to fuck her, hard, now, please! But he didn't, and instead continued to tease her. 'How was your night with Severus?' he asked, smiling at her exasperation.

'It was fantastic – please, Lucius, I need-'

'You seem to need quite a lot of it, considering you probably didn't spend the night exchanging potions recipes,' he observed. 'You really are a greedy little thing.'

Then, finally, when she least expected it, he drove deep and hard into her, again and again, until they both couldn't wait anymore and came together, in an orgasm so vociferous that Severus, who had just stepped out of the shower, merely shook his head.

vvv

After breakfast, they each retired to their rooms to write letters to their future allies, or so they hoped. Lucius had to write two of them, since Skeeter wasn't likely to even open a missive coming from either Severus or Hermione. But the letter to Skeeter certainly wasn't what had made him eat his breakfast in morose silence. Hermione had offered to write to Luna, and Severus was the obvious choice for contacting McGonagall, since the two heads of houses had been friends for years, contrary to what most of the students of Hogwarts used to believe.

They re-emerged shortly before lunch, and Tipsy was summoned and given detailed instructions – the letters had to be delivered at night time, to be found in the morning, for they couldn't take the risk of the elf being seen by any of the recipients. If the whole plan went tits up, they'd have enough trouble explaining three wands, re-grown hair and fingers, and fully restored magical capabilities, not to mention an alienated House Elf. There was no need to give the enemy a chance of charging them with conspiring against the government.

The general mood still hadn't much improved by lunchtime – strange, Hermione mused while eating her soup, how Lucius's changes of temper seemed to affect them all, and more so than a gloomy Severus or a depressed Hermione would have done. They were strong personalities, all three of them, but while Hermione (and she thought that the same held true for Severus) would have preferred to get to the other end of the tunnel in the privacy of her own room or in some isolated spot, Lucius just had to project his various humours outwards, for everybody to see and participate and fuss over. He really was convinced of being the centre of the universe, Hermione thought, and since he was, as a matter of fact, a brilliant, charming and multifaceted kind of wizard, people tended to let themselves be drawn into the game.

Their soup bowls vanished, and the main course appeared. Hermione was just helping herself to some roast lamb, when Lucius's fist hit the table. The slice of lamb dropped on the immaculate tablecloth, and so did the peas Severus had just been spooning onto his plate. They rolled merrily across the white damask, through the puddles of wine trickling from the glasses that had been upset and into the shards of one glass that had shattered against the platter holding the meat and potatoes.

With a sigh, Severus drew his wand and cleaned up the mess. 'Impressive as this show of strength certainly was,' he said, 'do you think you might enlighten us as to its cause?'

A lesser wizard would probably have apologized. Not so Lucius – which, Hermione thought, was the QED to the conclusions she'd come to over the soup. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and a deep frown line between his brows. 'We'll have to sit here, and wait,' he finally muttered, 'We'll have to wait until all those people deign to answer our letters, and there is nothing we can do to… to ensure the outcome of this whole plan which, the more I think about it, appears so… so desperate and amateurish that I doubt it could have been formed, had the participants not been in a post-coital daze.'

'And if _you_ think it's desperate and amateurish, it has to be, of course,' Severus said amiably. 'Because the idea that right now your entirely understandable distress might somehow alter your perception of this whole situation doesn't even begin to dream of crossing your mind.'

'I _hate_ inactivity!' Lucius spat.

'If I may say so, you don't hate inactivity, you hate the idea of something not being under your control,' Severus countered calmly. 'And what you hate and dread even more is your uncertainty concerning Draco's answer to your letter. You'd do well to acknowledge that fact, instead of criticizing a plan that is nothing short of brilliant. I admit that it does have its risks, yes, and that its outcome depends on how Minerva and the others are going to react, but it is neither amateurish nor desperate – no more than we are,' he added. 'And denying that we are, indeed, in a desperate situation won't help either.'

Lucius glared at him. 'You don't have a son, you don't know-'

'Oh, stop that bullshit,' Hermione said, her voice reminiscent of McGonagall in one of her scarier moments. 'That's so incredibly… jejune, really.'

'I _beg_ your pardon?' Lucius leaned forward, virtually spearing her with his stare.

Hermione was unimpressed. 'This discussion is so useless. Does the doctor have to have cancer in order to understand a patient who's got cancer? Do you have to have children of your own in order to know how to raise children? It's bollocks, just as I said. Nobody can completely understand what anybody else is feeling, even if they are in the exact same situation, and that's that. It is possible to draw analogies, but only from one's own experience and point of view. So, yes, I can imagine what you're going through because of Draco, and so can Severus. We're trying to understand you as best we can, I'm sure, and both of us are ready to give you all the support you need. But, strictly speaking for myself, I'm not willing to let myself be dragged down into your gloom and doom, merely because you're too arrogant to admit that you're desperate for the love of your only son. It's natural, for fuck's sake, it's what makes you human.' Without bothering to look at the recipient of this reprimand, she cast a warming charm on the dishes and started loading her plate.

When the silence persisted after she'd eaten a few bites, she finally raised her head and looked at the two men, who were sitting still, staring at her. 'What?' she said.

'Never, ever in my life,' Lucius said in a voice so low that it was barely audible, 'have I been confronted with such impertinence.'

'Consider it a learning experience,' she said, giving him a bright smile.

'I hadn't finished my sentence.'

'Oh. I was under the impression you had. Did I miss anything important?'

'Vital, indeed. I meant to add "without eliminating the possibility of that person uttering another word, whether impertinent or not".'

'It's a good thing, then, that you can't hex me here. Silencius hexes are terribly difficult to undo.'

'You are mistaken, my dear. Tongues are terribly difficult to replace.'

'Oh, but you seem to really like my tongue, Lucius. You wouldn't cut it off, would you?'

'Leave it, Lucius,' Severus said, 'This particular Gryffindor is absolutely immune to threats.'

'I'm just beginning to realize that,' Lucius replied, the ghost of a smile curling his lips.

Hermione bowed her head demurely, mostly to hide a broad grin. Then, inspiration struck, and she beamed at the two wizards. 'You know what? Since we're all getting so moody with all those pent-up emotions, why don't we practise duelling after lunch?'

'Yes, and get fried by Bogglesworth's wards,' Lucius remarked. 'Wouldn't that be fun?'

'No, I mean…' She cocked her head and looked up at the ceiling. 'I mean creative duelling. Not with hexes or curses, but strictly using charms and harmless spells – it's all about quick thinking and creativity and reflexes. What do you think?'

The two men looked at each other. 'Well…' Lucius said.

There was a long pause.

'A bit of training…' Severus ventured.

'Might be useful,' Lucius conceded.

'Oh come on! It's going to be fun! I used to do that a lot, back at Hogwarts, with Harry and Ron!'

'Potter and Weasley,' Lucius said. 'This is my reward. I'm stuck in a loony bin, and some cheeky little Gryffindor witch compares me to Potter and Weasley.'

vvv

Loath as the two men were to admit it, they were really having fun. They had set out an hour after lunch because, as Severus pointed out, duelling on a full stomach was likely to lead to rather embarrassing situations. So they had had a little nap, the three of them, on deck chairs transfigured from the wicker chairs on the veranda (Really, Lucius! Does it have to be back silk with the Malfoy crest?) and then proceeded to a secluded corner of the garden where the men shed their robes and shoes, and rolled up their sleeves. Hermione plaited the two wizards' hair and had hers plaited in turn by Severus. Then, she transfigured her shirt into a tank top and her jeans into sweat pants.

'That's unfair!' Lucius protested. 'You mean to distract us by showing off your tits!'

'That's exactly what Harry and Ron always used to say,' she countered cheerfully. 'But,' she continued, 'while showing off my boobs gave me an unfair advantage over them, because they'd go all pink and confused while I didn't – I mean, they were _sweating_! And they'd removed their shoes, I'm sure I don't have to go into any details…' Both wizards assured her that she did, indeed, not have to. 'But with you…' She eyed them dreamily. 'You both look so very… appetizing, barefooted and with your sleeves rolled up…'

'I begin to understand,' Severus said, 'what women mean by being viewed as sex objects, and why they're being so fussy about it.'

'Being regarded as a sex object,' Lucius agreed, 'is indeed quite detrimental to a wizard's dignity.'

'I meant it as a compliment,' Hermione said huffily.

'That's exactly what men have been attempting to explain to women, for thousands of years,' Severus pointed out. 'Only it never quite worked.'

'The amount of jewels I had to give Narcissa, only to get her back to normal after I'd told her that she was looking sexy,' Lucius said. 'Not only had she explicitly _asked_ if I thought she was looking good, but my answer was also an utter lie.'

'Sexy would have been the last quality I'd ever have attributed to Narcissa,' Severus agreed. 'Elegant, yes, even beautiful, if you like that kind of looks, but sexy… Definitely not.'

'She had very nice breasts,' Lucius said defensively.

'Yes, well, there's that. But they looked a bit… marble-ish, if you get my point. Rigid.'

'Frigid,' you mean, Lucius muttered gloomily.

Severus coughed discreetly. 'That's for you to judge, Lucius.'

'Believe me, she was.'

At this point, Hermione felt compelled to point out that frigidity was a difficult thing to achieve when in bed with Lucius.

'Ha!' Lucius said triumphantly, 'That's exactly what I told her. She was the only one, all the others were perfectly satisfied, if I say so myself.'

'Well, that must have cheered her up immensely,' was Hermione's deadpan reply. 'She may be a bitch, but I almost begin to pity her.'

Since the conversation was drifting dangerously close to the subject of Draco, Severus reminded them that they'd come here for duelling, not inane chatter, and that they' better start now, for the sky was threatening rain.

vvv

McGonagall's answer was the first to arrive, in the early afternoon after they'd sent the letters. She had transfigured her owl into a sparrow, and reduced the parchment to the size of a pinhead – unfortunately, the bird had no idea that he was now considerably smaller than Crookshanks and might have perished during the attack it obviously felt compelled to perform against the half-Kneazle, had it not been for Hermione's quick reflexes that immobilized Crookshanks with a spot-on Petrificus Totalus.

When Crookshanks had left the room, looking both embarrassed and clueless, and both owl and parchment had been returned to their original size and aspect, the three settled on the couch, to peruse the letter.

As Severus had predicted, McGonagall was eager to be of assistance and offered whatever power, influence and financial means she possessed. There was an allusion to Lucius not quite deserving her support, but Severus, who had insisted on reading the letter out loud for the other two, had the presence of mind to skip it.

Skeeter's reply was delivered next, by a House Elf wearing a lime green tea towel that popped into their living room the same evening. It introduced itself as Wobbly and handed Lucius a fuchsia-coloured envelope that smelled - Hermione bluntly stated that it stank – of some horrendously heavy perfume.

'Mmmm…' Lucius brought the envelope to his nose and sniffed. He was looking a little green around the gills when he finally put it on the table, but managed a dazzling smile. 'I see that Miss Skeeter's taste has grown even more sophisticated,' he announced, giving the elf a cordial nod.

Hermione discreetly made sure that her head was still in its usual place. She could have sworn that Severus's sudden coughing fit had originally been an incredulous snort.

'Please confer to Miss Skeeter the expression of my continued highest consideration,' Lucius went on, seemingly unperturbed, 'and do make sure to tell her that she will be most welcome at Malfoy Manor, once I am again master in my own house.'

The elf grinned toothily, nodded, and disapparated.

Lucius made a noise of obvious distress and went over to Hermione, to bury his nose deep in her hair. 'Ye gods,' he said, coming up again after a few deep breaths, 'that was more difficult than telling Voldemort that people without noses are much prettier than the rest of us.'

'Well, why on earth did you do it, then?' Hermione asked reasonably.

'Because, my dear, Skeeter most assuredly instructed that creature – did you see tat tea towel? The colour was atrocious! – As I was saying, she certainly instructed that elf to tell her exactly what every single one of us did and said, how we were looking and what colour the curtains are. We had a…' He brushed some invisible speck of dust from his sleeve. 'We had some kind of affair long ago, and therefore I made sure to deliver a comment on her taste as well.'

'But did you have to put it on with a trowel?

'Subtlety, my sweet, is completely wasted on House Elves.'

'You're being prejudiced again,' Hermione said, shaking her head in disapproval.

'He usually is,' Severus interjected, 'But he's right about House Elves. Have you never noticed that for them, there is no such thing as moderation? It's either jumping up and down or ironing their hands, or abject terror. They are constitutionally incapable of anything but extremes, and I assure you, they don't understand a statement like "I'm slightly disappointed". The clever ones will get the "disappointed" and punish themselves with the first heavy object they find. The not so clever ones will just stare at you.'

Hermione tried to measure her own rather limited experience with House Elves against that piece of information. 'You might be right,' she said reluctantly.

'Thanks for making my day,' came the acidic reply.

She merely smiled at him and turned her attention back to Lucius. 'You had some kind of affair with Skeeter? Tell me about it.'

'You just _have_ to give in to your curiosity, don't you?' He shook his head and rolled his eyes. 'Yes, we did have a brief affair when I was about twenty.'

'That young? But how come she's still speaking to you?'

Lucius, who was busy extricating the letter from its envelope without breathing in, looked at her over his shoulder. 'I'm afraid I don't quite understand, my dear.'

'It was really rather a compliment, come to think of it.'

'In that case,' he replied, banishing the offensive wrapping to the fireplace, 'would you care to explain it?'

'Of course, although I think that rather takes the fun out of a compliment. I'm sure you dumped her and not the other way round, right?' When he nodded, she continued, 'So you managed to dump her in a way that obviously wasn't too offensive, for she's still speaking to you. That's something I'd like to be able to do. I mean, back when I dumped Ron…'

Lucius shuddered delicately. 'I'm sure it was an admirable piece of Gryffindor drama. Whereas I' – he smiled viciously – 'merely asked her to marry me.'

'But…' Hermione stared. 'But why – I mean, there were you, scion of an old family, more money than she could ever spend on shoes, handsome… I just don't get it.'

'I had invited her to have tea with my mother first, of course,' he said. 'That helped immensely. Before I got married, tea with mother first and then popping the question was the safest and easiest way to end a relationship.'

'Oh my god!' Hermione looked at him with huge eyes. 'And after you got married?'

'I told them that mother had found out. That,' he said, patting the place next to him on the sofa for her to sit down, 'was preferable to, for example, pretending that Narcissa had found out. No self-respecting man would admit to being under his wife's thumb. Except for father of course. But since Mélusine Malfoy has the power of a tornado, combined with a Hippogriff's temperament and the wickedness one usually associates with the Giant Acromantula, nobody would have thought less of him if he admitted it.'

'That… sounds nice,' Hermione said flatly.

Lucius stroked her hair. 'Oh, it was. She loved me fiercely, hence the success of the abovementioned tea parties.'

'So how did Narcissa survive?'

'How do you survive the Killing Curse? By casting a shielding spell. Narcissa was quite simply imperturbable because she never listened to anything anybody said to her. Besides, my mother knew it was a marriage of convenience, and hence didn't have to be jealous of her. But I think Severus is becoming a tad impatient, aren't you, Severus?'

Severus wandered over to sit next to them. 'I'd like to know what's in that letter, but please do not let yourself be distracted by such matters of secondary importance.'

Lucius smirked and unfolded the paper. 'Dear Lucius,' he read, 'How kind of you to remember me. And what a nice surprise to receive your letter. An exclusive on the Heroes of the Last Battle's lives at Blossomwood might interest the Prophet, since you all seem to be so happy there. Further details would, I presume, best be discussed personally. Yours sincerely, Rita.'

'It seems we've hit the jackpot,' Severus said, a look of grim satisfaction on his face.

'Are you sure?' Hermione asked, 'I mean, there's nothing-'

'There is a wealth of information hidden in that letter,' Severus explained. 'You just have to be able to discern it.'

'Oh, it's the old Slytherins Are Subtle, Gryffindors Are As Blunt As Bludgers thing again,' she said crossly. 'Well I'm obviously not able to _discern_ it, so would you kindly explain it to me.'

'Of course, my dear, since you're asking so nicely.' That made her laugh and punch him in the arm. 'Now look. "How kind of you to remember me" is-'

'Don't tell me it _means_ something,' Hermione burst out, totally exasperated. 'Beyond the obvious, I mean. It just _can't_ mean anything else.'

'As I was going to say, it is merely a polite phrase. Not so the second sentence.'

'Not?'

'Certainly not. If she is _surprised_ to receive Lucius's letter, that seems to indicate that the inmates of this excellent institution are not allowed, as a rule, to communicate with the outside world.'

'That fits,' she admitted. 'Considering that we were kept apart even from each other…'

'Exactly. By giving us the information on the Prophet's potential interest, she tells us that she's still working for the same newspaper. By telling us the cause of that potential interest, namely our boundless happiness here, she indicates that the Prophet certainly won't bring anything that might hint at things not being quite so perfect. And, finally, by not rejecting Lucius's proposal but, on the contrary, offering to meet him, she informs us that if necessary, she'll tell the Prophet to take a hike and publish elsewhere, provided the story we're offering is interesting enough.'

'Being a Slytherin can't be easy,' Hermione murmured.

'It is a burden we endeavour to carry with dignity, my dear,' Lucius said, chuckling. 'But it does have its rewards.'

vvv

The trio had been gratified to receive Skeeter's answer, and happy to learn that McGonagall was going to support them. The events of the morning after, however, surpassed the wildest expectations any of them might have secretly harboured.

There'd been no hint that this was going to be an exceptional day.

They'd spent the night together, all three of them. They'd gone to bed quite early and spent a couple of very satisfying hours exploring the possibilities the combination of two male and one female body had to offer. They'd all slept well in Hermione's magically enlarged bed – if one didn't count a brief skirmish between Crookshanks and Severus's toes (Don't defend that beast, Hermione! Imagine he'd got my cock instead of my toe!) – and got up rather late.

Breakfast was finished, and they were just entering into a vivid debate on how to best spend the morning, when the hedge surrounding their garden (which on this side was quite close to the house) parted, and through stepped Luna Lovegood. Next to her pranced a tabby cat. Hermione shot out of her chair and across the lawn, to pick up the cat and hold it in her arms, stroking and kissing it, saying, 'Oh professor! Professor it's really you!' over and over again.

'Put her down, Hermione,' Severus said from behind her. His voice was rough with emotion. 'You know she doesn't like these displays of affection.'

'Bollocks,' Hermione said, but put the tabby back on the ground.

The change from her Animagus form back to human wasn't as quick as it had been when Hermione first witnessed it at the beginning of her third year, but still impressive. 'Language, Miss Granger,' Minerva McGonagall said, and gathered her into a fierce hug. 'My dear, brave, beloved girl! How are you?' She held Hermione at arm's length. 'You do look well…' She gasped when looking at Hermione's left hand. 'Your hand! Did they finally…'

'No.' Hermione shook her head, still trying to get a grip on her emotions. 'Lucius and Severus did, a few days ago. I owe them big time, both of them.'

'Both of them,' McGonagall repeated, 'Well, that's… a surprise.' She gave Hermione's ponytail an affectionate pull and turned to her former colleague. 'Severus, it's good to see you.' They shook hands formally. 'Considering what Hermione told me about her hand, I suppose you don't look so healthy courtesy of Blossomwood, do you?'

'All thanks to that bossy little witch and of course Lucius here. Miss Lovegood,' he said while covertly watching Lucius's chilly but civil handshake with Minerva, 'Thank you for coming. May I inquire as to how-'

While her robes were still more fanciful, to put it politely, than those of the average British witch, Luna had at least abandoned her habit of wearing ornaments made of wine corks, glass shards or discarded chocolate frog wrappers. 'Hi professor,' she said, kissing him on both cheeks before he could escape. 'Nice to see you. And you, Hermione. Hi Mr. Malfoy. Rita,' – she tapped the brooch fixed to her collar – 'you may turn back now.'

Upon closer inspection, the brooch turned out to be a beetle that took off with a glittering buzz of its wings, landed on the grass near them, and promptly turned into Rita Skeeter. 'Haven't you forgotten somebody, Luna?' she said, gesturing at the empty space next to Lovegood before marching towards Lucius and kissing him in a way that made Hermione so intensely jealous that her hand twitched towards the wand in her left sleeve.

Whether she would have actually hexed Skeeter was to remain a secret forever, because Luna drew her wand and muttered 'Finite incantatem!'

'Hello father,' said a distinctly bewildered Draco Malfoy.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hermione, whose heart was not only warm and loving, as Severus had so correctly stated, but also a lot more romantic than even those who knew her best would have believed, Hermione would have liked nothing better than for father and son to cross the ten yards or so separating them running, to fall into each other's arms and pat each other's backs while holding back their tears in a manly fashion.

They didn't, however. They crossed the distance quite slowly and managed a handshake. Lucius's voice was trembling slightly when he said, 'Hello Draco. It is a pleasure to see you.'

Her desire for heart-warming drama thus thwarted, Hermione turned to Luna. 'How on earth did you manage…'

'I think,' Severus's voice – the classroom voice, the one that carried effortlessly and made people stop in mid-movement – bit through the incipient clamouring, 'we ought to adjourn to the living room. There are many questions to be asked, and many matters to be discussed, and, happy as we are to have these guests here, they cannot stay too long, as that might hold considerable risks for all of us.'

Apparently he had already given orders to Tipsy, for when the procession of seven entered the living room, the table was groaning with refreshments, and seven chairs had been grouped around it.

The three hosts had eaten breakfast not too long ago, but obviously the shock of their allies appearing out of the blue (or rather, green) in the garden had made them hungry again. While the tea and coffee were passed around and everybody was busy selecting nibbles, Hermione just had to ask her question, otherwise she was sure her head would explode.

'Luna' she said to the young woman sitting opposite her, 'please tell me: How did you manage to get everybody here?'

The slightly protruding blue eyes briefly came to rest on her, and then returned to the fireplace, which seemed to hold some obscure interest. 'Oh,' Luna said in a faraway tone of voice, 'That? That was easy.'

Draco slid his arm around Luna's shoulders and affectionately kissed her temple. 'Did you hear that, Granger? It was easy.' He grinned.

'Don't be such a prat, Draco!' Then, the penny dropped. 'You two are…'

'Your powers of observation haven't diminished, I see. Yes, Granger, she's my girlfriend, we're shacking up together, and so she just towed me along. I was sure that we hadn't been the only ones you contacted. I mean, if you and father had managed to find a way to get _two_ letters out of this… prison, you of all people wouldn't have relied on one single chance, and certainly sent more. McGonagall seemed like the most reasonable choice. When she told us that she'd got a letter, but from Severus, not you, we were sure that the three of you had to be in this together. A very comforting thought, I must say.'

Luna smiled dreamily and snaffled the last cucumber sandwich from under her boyfriend's already outstretched hand with surprising precision. 'I floo-called Bogglesworth yesterday, after receiving your letter. I told her there was a rumour Blossomwood was infested by a plague of six-legged Heffalumps – one really shouldn't say such things lightly, because six-legged Heffalumps are no joking matter – but it was the best I could think of. So I asked her if I could pay a visit, merely to make sure that this was gossip and totally untrue, and I mentioned something about maybe doing a piece about all the war heroes at Blossomwood.' She took a bite of her sandwich and absentmindedly fed the other half to Draco, who was squirming under Hermione's amused glance. 'She accepted,' Luna continued, 'and so I called Rita – we'd already worked together on that interesting piece about the Goblins planning to destroy the wizarding economy – and it turned out that she'd received a letter as well. And here we are.' She smiled happily at everybody and then whispered something in Draco's ear.

Lucius, who had been listening in stony-faced silence, cleared his throat. 'And how long have you been, er, shacking up with Miss Lovegood?'

'We met in France, about three months ago, when Luna was trailing the… Er, what exactly were you trailing, darling?'

'I wasn't trailing anything, Draco. I was trying to get an interview with Nostradamus, who as you know, was reborn three years ago.'

'I see,' Lucius said, but his tone of voice gave the impression that he didn't really. 'Erm, well, congratulations, Draco.'

That had obviously been the right thing to say – Hermione let out a silent breath she'd been holding since Lucius asked his question – because Draco gave his father a broad smile. 'Thanks, father. I do hope you'll come and visit us once you're out of here.'

Lucius stiffened slightly. 'I… don't think I would enjoy being a visitor at a house that used to be my home,' he said slowly. 'But I am sure that a meeting can be arranged.'

'A house that used… Oh, the Manor. No, we don't live there. Too big, really, and not very comfy. You can have the old pile back once you're out,' Draco said. 'And the money, of course. I'm Uncle Brutus's business partner now, and Luna's, and I'm making heaps of money. I really don't need yours, after all, it belongs to you.'

'That is…' Lucius took a deep breath. 'That is very generous, Draco. Are you sure-'

'Of course I'm sure. And now' – Draco looked at the people assembled around the table – 'I think it's time we did some plotting. We don't have all day, you know?'

vvv

And plot they did. 

It was agreed that Skeeter – who was, as Severus had suspected, by now on rather hostile terms with the Prophet, who continually refused to print her contributions – would first write a neutral but slightly critical piece on Blossomwood. No interviews as of yet, merely a description of how the patients were being kept, what therapy they received, and so on. If the Prophet was ready to bring it, well, that would give the conspirators the advantage of the Prophet's readers being at least reminded that there was such a thing as Blossomwood, and that the heroes of the Last Battle were still alive, but that things maybe weren't quite all right. 

'We'll be walking a very fine line,' Skeeter said. 'We have to make them feel guilty, but not too guilty. They don't like that.'

And if, they all agreed, the Prophet refused to print that first piece, the Quibbler was to step in.

'First,' Draco said, chewing his quill, 'I think we ought to have a short article on how the Prophet has become Scrimgeour's mouthpiece over the years, they're completely under his thumb, etcetera, the usual.'

'As if people didn't know that,' McGonagall huffed.

'Well, you see, they may know that, but they don't really mind. If something like this were to happen in France, there'd be an uproar, immediately. They have a very different kind of political culture there.'

'They didn't have Voldemort,' Severus observed.

'No, they didn't, and who knows how things might have gone if they had. Anyway, we'll have maybe one or two articles, two weeks apart I'd say, so as to prepare the ground. And then, a special edition dedicated to Blossomwood. That ought to do the trick, and that's where you come in, Professor,' he said to McGonagall.

It pained Hermione to see how deep the traces were that the war had left on her favourite teacher. McGonagall had never quite recovered from the stunning spells fired at her five years ago, but more than that it was the constant grief that had marked her face. Despite of her brisk and sometimes prickly demeanour, the former Head of Gryffindor had loved her students as if they were her own children, and always tried to keep contact with as many of them as possible after they left Hogwarts. The loss of so many young people, not only from her own house, seemed to somehow have diminished her, she looked frail and almost translucent. But something of her old strength was gleaming in her eyes when she addressed Draco.

'What would you have me do?' she asked.

'I think,' Draco said slowly, 'that we'd have to do a lengthy interview with you. But' – he shot her an uncertain look – 'you'd have to delve into the memories of some of the patients here, if they consent of course. My father, Severus, Granger, Weasley, the lot. Only… I'm not sure… I mean it won't be easy for you to revisit all those things you'd probably rather forget.'

'Nonsense!' McGonagall made a brisk gesture of impatience. 'These people are being unlawfully detained, and we need to get them out of here. That's my first objective. If we manage to create a scandal big enough that Scrimgeour has to resign, well, I can't say I'd regret that. But, as I said, the people currently interned here are more important than any political agenda. I gave my word to do everything in my power to achieve that goal, and if that means I have to look at unpleasant memories, who am I to complain?'

'That's the spirit!' Draco said, but at the same time rolled his eyes at Hermione's expression of blissful admiration. 'So, the professor will be able to tell the public at large' – he started counting the items off his fingers – '_what_ the patients here at Blossomwood have done for this country, _how_ they were forced or at least persuaded to consent to staying here, _what_ kind of treatment they get – or don't get, as the case may be. We'll try to fix interviews with the Healers, too, and we'll of course do exclusives with the three of you.'

At this point Hermione decided that, just for once, she didn't have to raise her hand in order to be called upon, to impress everybody else with her knowledge and intelligence. Maybe it was due to having spent two weeks with two wizards whose sometimes astonishing insights stemmed from careful observation, or maybe it was that mix of tiredness and euphoria that had overcome her when she realized that they had friends who were willing to risk a lot for them, so she didn't have to push and goad and nag – whatever the reason, Hermione decided to tune out the debate and merely watch the people gathered around the table. And what she saw during that silent observation, so uncharacteristic of her, was certainly worth giving up her role as resident know-it-all for a while.

Draco had changed. He had changed so much that she could hardly believe her eyes. She had last seen him in their sixth year at Hogwarts, and even back then there had been something different about him – now she did of course know that it had mostly been badly hidden anxiety. But the differences were far more obvious now. He was wearing his hair very short, and his face that had always been narrower than his father's had filled out a little. There were faint lines running from his nostrils to the corners of his mouth, and he seemed more serious, more mature. But the most noteworthy change had taken place in the way he spoke and behaved: Gone was the arrogant drawl, gone was the aloofness, and gone was the desire to become a carbon copy of his father. He was affectionate towards Luna, respectful towards McGonagall. When he was speaking to his father, there was a vulnerability about him which Hermione would never have believed him capable of feeling and much less showing in public. 

Her eyes swerved towards Lucius. She had trouble suppressing a fond smile, which would have been totally out of place, as the discussion was becoming rather heated at this point. Lucius was obviously happy but afraid to believe it. She watched his eyes straying towards his son every few seconds. When their eyes met, Lucius looked quickly away, but when Draco was talking to somebody on the other side of the table, the icy grey eyes remained on him with cautious fondness.

She observed McGonagall, who from time to time exchanged a look of complicity and a warm smile with Severus.

She saw the expression on Luna's face when Draco talked or smiled to her, or when he touched her hand.

All this made her happy but at the same time sad. Life had gone on out there, people were living their lives, falling in love… But she was imprisoned at Blossomwood – true, she had Lucius and Severus as her companions, but if the Big Plan really worked out, and they'd be free within a few weeks, what was she going to do? Would she be able to cope? Would she be capable of leading a real life, with a job and friends and all those small things which set a life apart from a mere existence?

Suddenly she felt so afraid that she had to excuse herself and run off to her room, where she started crying, grabbing a rather uncooperative Crookshanks and holding him close for comfort.

vvv

She must have fallen asleep, and woke up when somebody knocked at her door. 'Come in!' she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. She could feel they were swollen.

Lucius, who was carrying a tray – that would be the perfect disguise for him to wear to a costume ball, absolutely unrecognizable, she thought – was followed by Severus, who held a bottle of wine and three glasses in one hand, and a vial in the other. 

'Are you feeling better now?' Lucius asked. He put the tray down on her bedside table. A bowl of soup and a spoon had been placed on it.

Severus sat down on the bed, while Lucius summoned himself an armchair and started uncorking the bottle. He gave her a worried look. 'You've been crying, haven't you?'

'Crying?' Lucius leant forward to examine her in the faint light of the candle on the bedside table. 'We thought that you'd had too much to eat, and had to leave because you felt sick. So she won't need the Antiquease potion,' he remarked to Severus.'

Hermione could only mutely shake her head, for she felt like crying again. She felt stupid, and weak, and she was sure of being a burden to the two men who looked so cheerful, although both were visibly worrying about her.

Severus stroked her leg. 'No, I don't think the little lioness has overeaten. There's something else wrong with her, and I would very much like to know what it is.' He got up and went around the bed, to sit on Hermione's right side with his back against the headboard, while Lucius took the same position at her left.

'What is it, sweet?' Lucius asked. 'You seem thoroughly unhappy.' He handed each of them a glass and, having taken a sip from his own, put an arm around her. 'Why don't you tell us?'

The tears wanted out, and she tried in vain to hold them back. 'It's stupid!' she bit out in a last attempt to gain control over her emotions. 'It's stupid, and I don't want to tell you, because it's so fucking stupid!'

Lucius's hand was massaging her shoulder, and Severus's fingers began to stroke her hair. 'If it makes you feel so bad on a day like this, it cannot be stupid. It has to be something really, really serious.'

'Don't _you_ feel it?' She looked at the two wizards in turn. 'I can't be the only one… Or maybe I am. Maybe I _am_ mad, just like Blackendale said, that stupid git who calls himself a Healer. But maybe he's right about this, and I'm really crazy, so of course nobody feels what I feel!'

'Hermione.' Severus's hand continued caressing her curls while he spoke. 'You are one of the sanest people I know. Why don't you have a little wine, and then just tell us what has upset you so?'

She nodded, wiped the tears off her cheeks with the heel of her hand, and took a few sips of wine. Swirling the liquid around in her glass, she thought that she really ought to confide in them. She didn't have any other friends, not right now, and probably not at all. And they were in the same situation as herself, so maybe they would be able to understand. And they really seemed to care.

She took another sip of wine and briefly enjoyed the pleasant warmth spreading outwards from her stomach. 'I was looking at… at them,' she began hesitantly, 'And somehow it struck me how much they had changed, and that all those changes came from having real lives, out there. Real lives, you know. Draco and Luna are together, and they have to run a newspaper, and Skeeter seemed a lot more human, maybe because she finally understood that she has a responsibility, or maybe because she had to experience for herself what it means to be mobbed and pointed at. I'm sure it wasn't a pleasant experience, but at least it was _life_, something where she was able to make her own choices, whether right or wrong, but they were her own…' She took another sip and looked first at Severus, then at Lucius. 'I'm not making any sense, am I?'

Lucius leaned over to kiss her forehead. 'You're actually making quite a lot of sense. I can understand you, to a certain degree, although age seems to be an important factor here. Severus and I, we both had a life before the war. You didn't. You went from school straight to Grimmauld Place, from there to a horrible battle, and from there to Blossomwood. You know nothing about life, and pretty little about the wizarding world, you don't belong to the Muggle world anymore, and you're mortally afraid that you won't be able to lead a normal life. Do I get the picture?'

Hermione stared at him. 'Yes, you do. And you don't seem to think it's stupid.'

'No, I don't. And neither, I am sure, does Severus. Who, I may add, might be able to empathize a lot better than I.'

'Why… Oh.' She looked at Severus over her shoulder. 'Yes, that makes sense. Hogwarts doesn't really prepare one for the world out there, whether you're a teacher or a student.' She scrutinized the contents of her wineglass thoughtfully. 'But… Please don't get the impression that I'm starting a misery competition here, but not only am I completely unprepared – I mean, I think I could cope with that – but I'll be twenty-one come September, and I don't have any kind of professional training. I don't have a family anymore, I don't have a single knut… That's what makes it all so very frightening.'

'I can imagine,' Severus said sympathetically. 'Being a war veteran-'

'Blackendale called me that, so don't you'-

Lucius squeezed her shoulders. 'What's so bad about being called a veteran?'

'Muggle thing probably,' she replied gruffly. 'Makes me think of gnarled old men in uniform, with lots of medals and at least one wooden prosthesis.'

It took Lucius a few seconds to digest that information. 'Like Moody, you mean?'

'Yes, that's – it's not funny, Severus!'

'Well you have to admit that the comparison is very slightly funny.'

'A bit,' she admitted.

'But there's one thing I don't get,' Lucius tried to steer the conversation back on track. 'What do you mean when you say you don't have any professional training? If I remember correctly, you passed your N.E.W.T.s, didn't you?'

'She scored Outstanding in every subject she took,' Severus supplied, 'And that was only because there wasn't anything better than Outstanding.'

Lucius refilled their glasses. 'I really don't quite see the problem. With results like that, you'll have to fend off potential employers. Unless of course,' he added lightly, 'you prefer to get married to some bloke who's totally undeserving of such a fine witch, and have a bunch of frizzy-haired brats.'

'I don't think that's anywhere on my agenda.'

The two men exchanged a smile over her head. 'In that case,' Lucius said, 'I am willing to do my first good deed ever and offer two unoccupied stragglers the hospitality of Malfoy Manor, if they want it of course.'

'As good deeds go,' Hermione countered – but she had trouble concealing her obvious pleasure, 'this one isn't a very good Good Deed, because of its appalling lack of altruism.'

'Oh.' Lucius shot her a look of mock-surprise. 'Is altruism a criterion for Good Deeds to be recognized as such?'

'Some people do seem to think so,' Severus said.

'What a pity. And there I was thinking of myself as a thoroughly reformed character…'

Hermione giggled. 'Never mind. Anything that is likely to give the Average British Wizard a fit of hysterics may be counted as a Good Deed. Not to mention Molly Weasley…'

'Hm.' Lucius took a sip of wine. An evil grin slowly spread across his face. 'One might consider inviting the whole Weasley tribe to the house warming party. One might indeed.'

vvv

Since none of the three had expected anything to happen the next seven days or so, waiting for the events to come was much easier than it had been after they'd sent off their letters.

After their allies – whom they now knew and not merely hoped to be allies – had visited them, a certain serenity had settled in, which wasn't diminished in any way even by Lucius's occasional fits of moodiness. All three were sure – although to varying degrees – that the strategy they'd come up with was going to work in some way or other. They had learned their lesson, though, from the unexpected appearance of their visitors and so Lucius's hair was carefully hidden under a partial dissimulating spell, and so were Hermione's re-grown fingers. Severus had opted for the simple expedient of enlarging his robes, so that they were two sizes too big for him and hung on his sinewy body as they had done before the combination of potion and spell had restored both his health and his magic.

Thus, they were more than a little surprised but by no means unprepared when Bogglesworth showed up at their refuge, as they had come to consider it, at the end of their third week of exile, as the Senior Healer probably still thought of it.

She entered the living room when they were just having breakfast. Hermione's intense sense of relief – at least she hadn't intruded on one of their dinners, for they would've had considerable difficulties explaining the linen, cutlery and dishes bearing the Malfoy crest, or on their nightly activities – was immediately replaced by a sensation of intense dread. She cast discreet sideways glances at her two male companions. Being the Slytherins they were, they projected nothing but calm and a boredom that was being only marginally counteracted by curiosity.

'Good morning,' Bogglesworth greeted them. She summoned a chair and sat down between Lucius and Severus.

The three returned the greeting.

'I think,' Bogglesworth said, in the brisk and efficient tone of voice she always used with the patients – probably, Hermione thought, to make them feel brisk and efficient by extension or osmosis or something like that, 'that it is time for you to return to the main building and continue your therapy there.'

Hermione decided to let the two men handle this situation. She was much too overcome by fear and confusion – not that she doubted for a single moment that Lucius or Severus were prey to exactly the same emotions, but they were a lot better at dissimulating them – to do much more than force her face into a mask of impassivity. But she could keep that mask only if she didn't have to talk.

'Really?' Lucius said, bending forward and eyeing Bogglesworth with an expression of utter interest. 'So the Ministry has finally increased your budget. Congratulations, Senior Healer Bogglesworth.'

The grey-haired witch was momentarily reduced to a state of total speechlessness. 'How,' she began but had to clear her throat because the pitch of her voice was a little too high to befit a Healer of her experience and calibre. 'How did you come by that information?'

'Simple deduction,' Severus explained. Lucius leant back in his chair and crossed his arms, giving every impression of enjoying the spectacle which, to judge by his air of supreme arrogance, had been staged only for his amusement. Since Bogglesworth was now glaring at Severus, he gave Hermione a reassuring smile and winked at her.

'Mister Snape, You would do well to explain where you got this piece of information!'

'As I said, it was simple deduction, and no doubt Mr Malfoy here will confirm that. If I remember correctly' – Hermione noticed that he was now in full classroom mode – 'one of the main reasons you cited for sending me… and the others, of course, to this, er, outbuilding, was the amount of money our therapy cost the Average British Wizard.'

'Or witch,' Hermione just couldn't refrain from adding.

'Or indeed, witch,' Severus said gravely.

'Therefore,' Lucius took over smoothly, 'if you intend to, er, reintegrate the, er, prodigal sheep into the, er flock…' He made a lengthy pause. 'Because I would never dare to assume that you might have, er, misled us as to the true motives of our, er, exile.' He gave her the smile that had reduced dozens of witches to obedient, hormone-driven puppets.

Even Hermione, who had seen him in his less glorious and more vulnerable moments, had some major trouble resisting that smile. Bogglesworth did, of course, succumb.

'That's, uh, well…' She passed a hand over her grim hairstyle and giggled. 'That's true, Mr Malfoy, I would of course never…'

'Of course you wouldn't.' Lucius leaned towards her and briefly touched her forearm. 'Not a Healer of your calibre. You may have your doubts on my behalf, Senior Healer Bogglesworth, but I do admire people who deem their professional ethics to be their most valuable possession.'

'That's… well, I… really, this is undeserved praise. I mean, everybody would-'

'You must be joking.' The smile vanished from Lucius's face, only to be followed by a dark cloud of deep but controlled distress. 'Even though some may have the purest of intentions, so few have the courage to follow through with them.' His right hand came to rest on his heart. 'May I say that I'm deeply honoured to have encountered one of those who still-'

Hermione had been absolutely sure that this last spoon of sugar had over-sweetened the cake. But obviously Lucius was a better judge of character. The bite went down smoothly and the patient didn't fall into a sugar coma. 

'Don't flatter me,' Bogglesworth interrupted him. Her tone of voice now reminded Hermione of Professor Umbridge. 'Really, Mr… Lucius, you have formed too high an opinion of me.'

This time he didn't contradict her. If there really was a devil, Hermione thought, he ought to be taking Remedial Temptation with Lucius Malfoy. That man was capable of playing a human being like an instrument, with a deadly virtuosity that probably made the saints consider going on a holiday to hell, merely for the good company.

'So,' Healer Bogglesworth took a different approach (Hermione almost felt sorry for her, because she thought she was being so clever), 'Lucius, how do you feel about returning to your room in the main building?'

'I really couldn't…' Lucius gave a deep sigh. 'I couldn't say, really, I haven't been in contact with my emotions very much lately.' 

Hermione had to pretend she was choking on a sip of coffee. Where had he got that catch phrase from? 'I'd really rather leave that decision to your superior judgement, Senior Healer Bogglesworth.'

There was a lot of things one might criticize about Lucius's way of monopolizing conversations, situations and lives, Hermione thought when Bogglesworth had left. But sometimes – and that day was such a time – one really and truly had to thank the deities for the gift of boundless narcissism they'd bestowed on the man.

vvv

Back at the main building, Senior Healer Bogglesworth was having a hard time defending the decision she'd just made – although, if she was absolutely honest with herself, she had no idea what had made her change her mind – against Minister Scrimgeour. She'd floo-called him immediately after her return from the not quite successful mission she'd been sent on by the Minister.

'It is certainly _not_ better to leave them where they are,' Scrimgeour bellowed. 'If I believed it was, I wouldn't have told you to get them back to their rooms by tonight! Skeeter and that harridan McGonagall visiting Blossomwood is not a matter to be trifled with! Haven't you been reading the papers?'

'I have a retirement home to deal with.' Bogglesworth was sounding more and more stubborn. 'I don't have time to read the papers.'

'You'd have done well to sacrifice some of your precious time to reading the Quibbler! They're constantly attacking us-'

'What exactly do you mean by "us"?' she interrupted him. 

'By "us", my dear Belinda, I mean myself, the ministry and thus indirectly also you.'

Her hackles visibly raised, Bogglesworth countered, 'It may have escaped your attention, Rufus, but Blossomwood is not an institution under the authority of the Ministry. Or is your memory so short that you've already forgotten that you expressly desired it to be an independent body? So as not to create the impression that my patients may in any way be forcibly held by the government?'

'The funds come from the Ministry, my dear, and I've just augmented them by a not exactly negligible sum!'

'For which I am exceedingly grateful. Especially as this budget raise has rather come as a surprise, I have to say. As coincidences go, this one is truly… miraculous.' She smiled at the Minister's leonine head. 'But, just as you were saying, Blossomwood is an independent institution. So what's the point of mentioning the budget raise?'

'Don't play dumb,' Scrimgeour growled. 'I want those three back into the main building, and no further discussion! Just imagine,' he said, in a more conciliatory tone, 'what would happen if those two shrews made even the slightest allegation of anything… er, improper happening there?'

'Improper? Don't be daft, Rufus, those three are constantly at each other's throats! Either of the men would have to use Imperius to get the girl to do anything even remotely improper, and the house and gardens are heavily warded against Unforgivables, curses, hexes and the lot. Besides,' she continued, 'I have decided, after the proper consultations with my Healers of course, that four weeks of isolation will have a very salubrious effect on them. They were driving their therapists half mad, and there was no progress whatsoever that would have made the nervous breakdown of three staff members worth the while.'

'You ought to have chosen better Healers, then.'

'Rufus, I warn you. You're entering very dangerous territory here. If you dare to make so much as an attempt to put the blame on me – and I mean not only for Malfoy, Granger and Snape, I mean for this whole sorry travesty of a retirement home, I swear I'm going to tell Skeeter about your explicit order to use the medicines the Ministry sent us, and not those coming from the usual suppliers!'

Scrimgeour's face went ashen; the sudden change was visible even in the flickering light cast by the fire. 'You wouldn't-'

'Oh yes, I would. Or did you believe I'd never get suspicious? I'm not especially fond of Snape or Malfoy, but they're patients, for Asclepios' sake! Granger is a young girl, and I'm not allowed to restore her hand? Tonks is stuck with green hair and a troll's nose, not to mention her webbed feet, and I'm forbidden to do anything about it? It's a breach of professional ethics, that's what it is, esteemed Minister, and to tell you the truth, I'm fed up with it. In the beginning you told me that Blossomwood was to be an experiment, all right, I'm telling you that the experiment has failed. Let us stop it here and now, give me your word that you'll release those poor devils tomorrow, and I swear I'll keep my silence.'

'Oh, you'll keep your silence anyway, I believe,' Scrimgeour answered smoothly. 'Because, as you so correctly stated, what you and your troupe of blundering idiots have been doing to our war heroes is not merely a breach of professional ethics. Belinda, Belinda.' He shook his head. 'By deliberately neglecting to properly care for our heroes you have besmirched the memory of Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter, you have, indeed, slapped the faces of all those who suffered during the years of war… My, my… Just imagine – if the press were to somehow find out… They might even discover that the price difference between the potions you habitually use and the concoctions you ordered for Blossomwood went into your own pocket. What a pity that would be…'

Bogglesworth was clutching her throat. 'You… You wouldn't…'

'I think you know me well enough, my dear Belinda, to know that I would. Without hesitation.' He smiled and nodded. 'I have to go now – busy schedule, you know. Give my regards to Skeeter and McGonagall!'

When his head had vanished from the fireplace, Bogglesworth sat down on the hearth rug and cried.

vvv

They had another visit from Bogglesworth the next morning. Unlike the day before, she was looking rather flustered, nervous and not as sure of herself as she usually was.

'I'm afraid,' she began – this time she hadn't even sat down but remained standing and occasionally pacing, 'that some… well rather undesirable elements have got it into their heads to… er, well, to direct public attention to a place where nothing ought to disturb the placid atmosphere that is so vital for the occupants' peace and well-being.'

'You mean a cemetery?' Hermione asked cautiously.

Lucius bit his lower lip and was suddenly very interested in the state of his fingernails.

'Certainly not, Miss Granger. I am, of course, referring to Blossomwood.'

'What kind of… er, undesirable elements are you referring to then, Senior Healer Bogglesworth?' Severus inquired.

Lucius dropped the coffee cup he'd just been about to drink from. 'Please!' he exclaimed, wide-open grey eyes staring, hands raised in defence against the horrors to come. 'Please, not the Dementors! Please don't let them get me!'

He was so convincing that, for a second or so, Hermione did indeed believe him. But Severus, who was sitting with his back towards the Healer, rolled his eyes, and that persuaded Hermione that Lucius was indeed play-acting, though certainly at Oscar level (and certainly never as a supporting actor, she couldn't resist thinking).

Bogglesworth instantly snapped into Motherly-Healer mode and did her best to reassure her blond patient. 'No, of course not, Mr Malfoy! Please calm down, there is no reason to be afraid. Oh goodness, maybe I ought to have phrased my announcement more carefully… You don't have to be afraid of anything, Mr Malfoy, and neither of course' – she glanced at Severus and Hermione – 'do you.'

'Then maybe,' Severus said in a tone of mock-patience, 'you would care to enlighten us concerning the nature of the undesirable elements you are kind enough to regard as such, since they seem to be threatening our peace and… er, recovery.'

'Journalists,' Bogglesworth said. She pronounced the word in a sinister tone of voice, as the Great Inquisitor might have done when saying 'daemons'.

'Journalists?' Severus echoed. 'Now I begin to understand your distress, Healer. That… vermin really ought to be exterminated, every single one of them. They cause nothing but trouble!'

'Exactly my feelings.' Bogglesworth nodded.

'And how many of them are there?' Hermione ventured a question of her own.

'Two, but only one of them is strictly speaking a journalist. The other…'

'Ye-es?' Lucius was back from the realm of imaginary horrors and now wore the – by no means fake – expression of a very hungry cat eyeing a very juicy mouse.

'The other is Minerva McGonagall. Yes,' she said at their unanimous expressions, both verbal and mimic, of horrified surprise. 'Her of all people. And I can't even deny her request, because she is carrying an official letter from the French Minister of Magic who kindly asks permission for her to view the facilities on behalf of the International Wizengamot. The Minister' – she paused and inhaled deeply – 'the Minister has given his permission for them to visit the premises, although he did, of course, point out that the patients are not to be unduly harassed.'

Draco had obviously been pulling a few strings, and his puppets weren't of the kind one might easily ignore. Hermione mentally patted his shoulder.

'The problem is,' Bogglesworth went on, pacing back and forth in front of the fireplace, 'that I could of course refuse them entrance, but you know how it is with journalists: Deny them and they'll immediately jump to conclusions.'

'Bastards,' Hermione said with feeling.

'Indeed.' Bogglesworth stopped her pacing and looked at the trio. 'The named a few patients they'd like to speak to, and you are among them. All three of you. Do you think you might…' The rest of the sentence remained suspended.

Severus sighed deeply. 'I can of course only speak for myself, but…' He paused, long enough to make her squirm. 'Considering the excellent care Blossomwood has been taking of me, it would be an act of supreme ingratitude, were I to refuse and thus drive the journalists to jump to any wrong conclusions. I am not enthusiastic, of course, but I do agree. For the greater cause, so to say.'

Lucius and Hermione expressed similar points of view, and expected Bogglesworth to leave. But she didn't. Instead, she perched uncomfortably and a bit awkwardly on one of the armchairs, looking pained but visibly lost for words.

Both men would have left her to squirm and have taken pleasure in what seemed more and more like anxiety. Hermione, though, didn't believe in the adage that revenge was a dish best served cold. Besides, she'd always attributed the Healers' apparent inability to help them more to lack of experience and knowledge than to lack of will. 'Is anything the matter?' she asked therefore, stepping closer to Bogglesworth.

'Yes… But I'm not sure… This is such a delicate situation, I hardly know how to…'

'You mean Scrimgeour doesn't want us to tell Skeeter how we came to be here?' Lucius said with a bluntness Hermione would never have believed him capable of.

But he'd definitely achieved his goal. Tears began to stream from the Healer's eyes, and it was a while before she was able to speak. 'I really shouldn't burden you with this,' she muttered, her voice still quavering. 'You are patients, and supposed to be in my care…'

'I think,' Severus observed acidly, 'that we've had enough of your care to last us a few lifetimes. Out with it, woman! What did our esteemed Minister have to say?'

So Bogglesworth reported the floo conversation of the evening before; and since unburdening her heart felt so good, she told them everything from the beginning. How she had been approached first by Percy Weasley, then by the Minister himself. How they'd lured her with the prospect of running her own retirement home, and with the assurance of its independence. How they'd hinted that the Heroes of the Last Battle would better be kept away from public life for some time, until everything had calmed down, until they could go back to leading normal lives. How they'd insinuated that this experiment might be a unique chance for the development of new ways of healing, especially the soul, especially if the patients involved were not to be magically cured of their physical handicaps, because invaluable lessons might be learned which would benefit future patients with incurable handicaps. How they's argued that Blossomwood was a worthwhile but horrendously expensive experiment, and that they might save on certain items like, for example the healing potions.

The three listened in grim silence. It wasn't the truth that came as a shock, it was the fact that they'd guessed it and been right.

Hermione was the first to speak. 'So he's blackmailing you.'

'He threatened, indirectly of course but it was clear enough, to destroy me if I told Skeeter anything of what I just told you.'

'And what,' Lucius asked, 'have you decided to do? Let him get away with it, intern us here forever?'

Bogglesworth shook her head so violently that strands of hair came free from her bun and stood out at strange angles. 'No! That's not what I want! I just don't know what to do – I won't be able to find employment ever again, if he exposes me. But I know that I won't be able to live with myself if I just pretend yesterday's conversation never took place. I can't.'

'Well,' Severus said slowly, 'I think it might be time for us to show you a few things. To, er, maintain the balance of power, so to speak.' He glanced at Lucius and Hermione, who nodded. 'Because if any of what you just told us gets out, there will be a scandal, and Scrimgeour won't have problems choosing his scapegoat. So…' He drew his wand and removed the spell from his robes, Lucius's hair and Hermione's hand. 'And that was just for starters. You are gaping like a fish, Senior Healer Bogglesworth. I assure you that this is not a very becoming expression.'

The Healer's face did indeed give a rather ichthyic impression. 'You did…' she said, gasping for air, 'You are… But I don't understand…'

'It's a rather long story,' Hermione said, patting the Healer's shoulder. 'I'm sure we'd be happy to tell it to you sometime, but now I think we ought to include you in a cunning little plan that involves pensieves, a ruthless journalist and my favourite teacher. Present company excluded, of course,' she added, giving Severus a sunny smile.

Seeing that smile, Bogglesworth reverted from incipient human to goldfish.

vvv

Four pensieves, filled to the brim and ready to be shrunk to pocket size, were standing on the sideboard. The Dictoquill had already been pocketed, and the five people currently occupying the living room were having a quiet afternoon tea.

Skeeter, who had specifically required cream for her tea, poured a generous measure into her cup, blissfully ignorant of the others' disapproving stares.

'Where on earth did you acquire this filthy habit, Rita?' Lucius inquired, barely able to suppress a shudder.

'You mean the cream? Oh…' She smiled. 'That goes a long way back. Your mother is to blame, of course. Don't you remember the lecture on good manners she gave me – needless to mention, it was completely uncalled for – before spraying acid all over my family tree?'

'It, uh, was a long time ago,' Lucius said, clearing his throat. 'I don't remember every detail – did she indeed talk about how to take one's tea?'

'She most certainly did, describing, unless I'm very much mistaken, the unforgivable faux pas of putting cream in one's tea as… wait… I think she said "As deeply disgusting as fornicating with Mudbloods", which was especially nice since my mother is muggleborn.'

Lucius coughed again. 'Did she indeed? I'm sure she didn't mean to deliberately insult you, but…' He shrugged. 'Mother very rarely cared whether she was insulting people.'

'Malfoy family trait, I'm sure,' Hermione said.

'Absolutely,' Severus agreed, 'And one of the top requirements for marrying into the family. By now it's in the genes and breeds true, so even if a Malfoy were by any chance to be orphaned and raised by foster parents, he'd overcome any attempt at education.'

'Badmouthing people who are in the same room as you, my dear friend, doesn't qualify as impeccable behaviour either, you know.'

'True, true. Then again, saying nasty things about you when you're not listening is only half the fun.'

McGonagall and Bogglesworth, who had been engaged in quiet conversation with their heads bent towards each other, both looked up at the same time.

'I think,' McGonagall said sharply, 'healing magic isn't all that has been going on here.'

'No,' Severus replied, giving her a winning and totally un-Snape-ish smile, 'we also did a lot of duelling.'

'And bathing,' Hermione chimed in. 'You should see the bathroom, it's lovely.'

'Not to forget the delicious food,' Lucius said. 'Once we'd pocketed that House Elf – metaphorically speaking of course – the little bugger proved to be quite useful.'

'Really,' Hermione said, 'we had quite a lot of fun.'

'But you seemed so… tense,' Bogglesworth objected, rather faintly. 'That is to say… that day when the wards went off…'

'A minor altercation,' Lucius replied smoothly, his voice a trickle of honey.

'Of course we were tense,' Hermione said, 'I mean, wouldn't you? We'd stolen Tipsy, made wands, healed each other… We did have quite a lot to hide.'

Skeeter remained quiet, and observed the trio out of narrow eyes. One could almost see the cogwheels turning. The dictoquill in its sheath of snakeskin was visibly quivering.

'Rita,' Lucius said amiably, 'what about a little stroll through the garden? I'd like to have a word with you.' On their way to the door, he turned and winked at Hermione and Severus.

'How's he going to prevent her from, you know, writing about us?' she whispered.

'There's always a way for a Slytherin,' he replied, squeezing her hand.

EPILOGUE

The picture of Minister Scrimgeour being led out of the Ministry building by a squad of definitely unfriendly-looking Aurors was on the front page of wizarding newspapers around the world.

Percy Weasley's exit through one of the Ministry's side doors didn't make the papers, but a Howler sent to his cell in the Ministry dungeons was certainly worse than being publicly viewed as a criminal. The jailers were still snickering when he was escorted to the Wizengamot five weeks later.

And the Heroes of the Last Battle were so happy that, upon leaving Blossomwood, they managed radiant smiles for the waiting journalists. This immediately got them the Average British Wizard's – and witch's, yes, Hermione! – sympathy. After all that loneliness and isolation, they all were longing for human contact, for talking and laughing. They were invited to so many parties that most of them managed to stay continuously drunk for about two months.

But one party, the greatest of them all, was still to come.

vvv

Lucius stretched and snuggled closer to Hermione. 'I really have to say that I am quite reluctant to leave this bed of wanton lust in order to dress up and pretend to enjoy watching a crowd of proles trampling through my house, drinking my champagne and slurping my oysters.'

'Since they're your oysters and your precious bottles,' Severus observed, removing Lucius's hand from Hermione's breast and putting his own hand there in a blatantly possessive fashion, 'that's not my main concern. But there's precious little time left before this ambitious young lady starts her internship, which is doubtlessly to be followed by a stellar career. Knowing her, this is going to turn into a bed of frustrated wanking.'

Hermione merely giggled.

'Very funny.' Lucius propped himself up on an elbow and glowered down at Severus. 'Knowing _you_, you'll be living in that disgusting lab and only come out if you need to buy supplies. If that's my rewards for offering two ingrates free access to my house, heart and soul…'

'If I may remind you,' Hermione finally joined the discussion, 'you've been away from the Manor two weeks out of the last month, Mr. Political Adviser to the Minister of Magic.'

'That,' Lucius said with inimitable arrogance, 'was merely to fulfil my patriotic duty.'

'Bollocks! You merely discovered that you and Minerva have the same vicious sense of humour! Don't even try to deny it!' Hermione poked his shoulder. 'She told me! Besides' – she rolled onto her back and drew both men towards her for two long, languid kisses that considerably raised the room temperature – 'I think we've all realized the importance of enjoying each other's company.'

'Enjoy?' Lucius raised an ironic eyebrow.

'You must be joking,' Severus said.

That was the end of the conversation.

They'd really got the hang of moving together, Hermione thought.

THREE MONTHS LATER – THE REAL AND FINAL EPILOGUE

'How kind of you to receive us, mother. You do, of course, remember Severus?'

'The scrawny, unwashed brat with the big nose? Yes, I think I do.'

'And this is, er, Hermione. She is head of Gringott's Muggle liaison office.'

'I was under the impression that somebody had developed a cure for victims of the Poodle curse…'

'Mother, do you think you might at least try to exhibit a modicum of courtesy? Just this once? As a personal favour to your only son?'

'I fail to see why I should. The people you insist on dragging to my house… Although these two are not as bad as that Riddle person you once invited to tea.'

'I think we ought to let bygones be bygones, mother. I admit that befriending Tom Riddle was one of my less fortuitous choices.'

'Well, I am glad that you finally admit your mistake. What about these two, then? I do hope they are not going to talk you into something foolish, as did Riddle. That tattoo looked awful.'

'This is definitely not about tattoos, mother.'

'Well, what is it about, Lucius? Do try to be a little more coherent.'

'I am trying, mother. This is about…'

'Well?'

'Friendship, I suppose. Probably more.'

'Friendship? Two men and one woman? That seems quite unusual. And you are living together?'

'Yes, mother. We are living together.''Lucius, look at me. Is this what people commonly refer to as a ménage à trois?'

'Yes, mother. It probably is.'

'How deliciously debauched. You have to tell me more about it — I will need some details in order to thoroughly embarrass my dear lady friends at the bridge club. Severus, Hermione, please follow me to the Blue Salon. Lucius, be a dear and pop over to have a look at the kitchen staff. Don't stand there gaping like a fish, just go. Well, now, Hermione, you must tell me exactly what...'

The door closed behind the three. Lucius remained where he was for a moment, smiling to himself.

Then he walked towards the kitchen.

Being a thoroughly happy man didn't mean that he couldn't kick a House Elf when Hermione wasn't looking, now did it?

FINIS


End file.
